The Fox to His Hound
by REImagination
Summary: !AUTHOR'S NOTE ABOUT THE NEXT UPDATE! For all he cared he was never born with humanity. But she changed that- She was his humanity. Holmes is just as determined to win her back as Irene is determined to get married to the man she loves.
1. Deck The Halls

**My first Multi-Chapter fic.**

**FULL SUMMARY:**

**London is crime-free. Watson drags a bored Holmes to the country side, and who else was to show up but The Woman? ****Experience has left Holmes perpetually suspicious of Irene Adler, more so when seemingly unrelated murders surface as her wedding date to a rich lord looms nearer. He wagers he is right, Watson bets otherwise. But is the bride-to-be truly the perpetrator, or is there some other evil at hand? How far will he go to prove her guilty?**

**Set 6 years after AGOS. Prequel still pending. :)**

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><p><strong>Deck the Halls<strong>

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><p>Baker Street was laden with a bountiful layer of snow. It was quite a lovely sight one might compare to that of a ginger-bread village. Anyone who would happen to pass by would think they had been imprisoned inside a pretty snow globe. Christmas cheer was creeping around the corner and everyone reveled in it, but not Sherlock Holmes.<p>

Thick curtains were drawn over windows, a roaring flame in the hearth, pipe lit and stuffed to the brim with tobacco, an array of bottles of brandy, rum, embalming fluid and tea with ear medication on the coffee table, complete with about an inch of dust over everything else including himself; all these were factors to help the great detective strive to keep warm. That and preventing his brain from total shut down.

Winter had just fallen over bleak and dreary London; everything was a sight of white, grey and black. It was more than a week away but the entire city had been prepared already for Christmas as if it hadn't been around for so long.

Holmes sat unaffected by the idea, cheer and celebration wasn't always an option for his normally erratic, unpredictable and remarkable mind, he had more pressing problems; there were no cases to handle. It's either crime had become more complex that even he could not sniff it out or that everyone in London had been awarded a spot in Father Christmas' Nice list.

The latter was laughable; the former was a very interesting thought.

He was sitting behind what had been his desk before it was engulfed in what looked like London Post's mail stash for a month, rummaging through his correspondences for a good seven hours since this morning. The pile of unopened mail usually held into place by a jack knife above the wooden mantelpiece lay in front of him, finally opened and read through, all two hundred nineteen unopened uninteresting pleas for his services.

He had re-read them for the third time, just incase he had missed things such as a hidden message, highly-unlikely, but it was something to do rather than join Watson and his young family out in caroling.

"'Dear Mr. Holmes' … 'my daughter is missing' … 'heiress' … hmm, the young lady has eloped with the stable boy, how romantic." The letter from a distressed mother read.

He threw it to the fire and picked another.

"'Dear Mr. Holmes' … uh-huh," he took a long drag on his pipe, "'mysterious restaurant poisoning' … 'multiple victims'. Hmmm, spoilt milk, a clumsy sous chef and contaminated water pipe line."

"'Dear Sherlock Holmes' … from a Lord Campton? Interesting… This could be a ca- oh wait, case solved."

He scooped up the pile in his arms and tossed them into the fire. "These people! Such petty problems, can they not move their backsides and do something for themselves?" went his monologue, "what will the greater of London do without me?"

"Probably burst into flames and sink to the ground," chided a voice by the door. Dr John Watson lounged on an armchair, hat and coat hung by the coat stand, a rather surprised smile on his face.

Holmes blinked.

"The Lord Campton case, do tell me about it after you explain to me how you had not noticed my presence here. How long has it been old boy, seems like you've lost a bit of touch over the weeks? I've quite missed you."

Holmes blinked again; Watson gave a small laugh and walked over to his colleague. He looked at the letters over Holmes' shoulder.

"Scouring for cases I see," Watson commented, "it's funny you should throw them, you don't usually do, even with the most petty ones."

"Singing carols despite suffering the limp, Watson? Not just you I believe, young Miss Watson gave you quite a time," he eyed Watson's coat by the door, a sour smell coming from it. "Upset stomach, had too little for lunch I presume, I smell a hint of your _dear_ wife's lemon meringue pie, and _out_on such a cold day, caroling! Have you not thought that through? You are a doctor after all."

Holmes smirked. Watson's ears turned pink.

"Alright! Alright, I take back what I said about you losing touch, and yes uhm… the chill must've caught on to Lizzie."

"I assume they're here with you then, young Lizzie and… your _wife."_

"Holmes."

"Sweet Mother Mary."

"Not funny."

"Mary..." Holmes croaked.

"Better. They're downstairs with Mrs. Hudson getting Lizzie into new clothes, and Mary too."

Another smirk pulled itself on Holmes lips.

"Let's change the subject shall we?" he continued to clear his desk, throwing letters to the fire and putting away files and dossiers. "Watson,"

"I'm all ears old chap," he sat in an armchair by the window.

"I am in a _terrible_ predicament!" Holmes took a long drag from his pipe.

"Ran out of embalming fluid?"

"Do be serious Watson! This could easily mark the end of my career!" Watson gave him his full attention.

"How so? Oh please don't tell me… Is _he_ back?" Watson looked very worried; his colleague does look shaken up.

"Somewhat. Yes and No."

"What?"

"Somewhat yes, for the anxiety my situation gives me lately is _somehow_reminiscent of what he's put me through, do keep up Watson," Watson's face dropped to a scowl, "and No. He's dead is he not, if not do tell me? Although I so much miss the mental stimulation he bestowed upon me." Holmes sighed, "Good times, good times."

"Yes and the fish hooks in the shoulder." Watson was slowly loosing interest.

"This is _terrible_for me!" Holmes went on, ignoring Watson, "London is actually stripped of crime!" The doctor rolled his eyes. "Not just London, the greater of European crime scene seems to be busy hanging out holiday rubbish also! I am _actually_jobless! _JOBLESS WATSON!_ How am I to pay for rent?"

"Really Holmes, it's Christmas season, everybody deserves a break. That should be good news, and besides, I'm sure after the holidays, criminals will be happy enough to fulfill your needs." He said sardonically.

"Not for the likes of me who live on the pleasure of solving other people's woes, not to mention the wages they offer-"

"Oh don't say that Holmes. Do you really think I'd believe you were actually worried about the money?" Watson laughed scathingly, "I'd say you are bored almost beyond repair! Right now you have been in between jobs for quite the longest time in your career. I'd even say that cocaine intake of yours has dulled your mind or heightened your imagination that you see things in places and people that isn't even there! Imagine! Accusing poor old Mrs. Hudson of murder and poisoning your food!"

"She does,"

"No. She. Does. Not. Holmes." He said each word slowly like speaking to a stubborn child.

"He's tired John, just let him be." Mary's soft voice floated from the door way, "you've dealt with him like this before after all, and he ends up just fine." She smiled at Holmes, trailing behind her and clutching her skirts was four year old Elizabeth Watson wrapped snuggly in her velvet winter coat, a tea towel peaked from under her collar.

Holmes felt unnerved rather than comforted by the smile.

"Mrs. Watson," he said coldly but Mary retained her sweet smile, to Holmes it was a smirk. "Thank you for taking my side even for just a while in this matter, but I assure you that I am well, not tired, nor irreparably _bored_." He glared at Watson, who offered his seat to his wife. Mary then turned to Watson.

"Oh John, have you told him yet?"

"Tell me what precisely?" Holmes butted in; they have been leaving him out in a lot of matters lately.

Watson opened and closed his mouth a few times searching for words, much like a fish.

"Uhm, your brother Mycroft, he invited us over in his estate for the Christmas Hol-"

"No, sorry, invitation declined! I am much far too busy to be gallivanting around in the country when there is much to be done for London." He emphasized the word _busy_ without looking up from his desk; he had taken to rereading his files again.

_"_Well _you_ weren't exactly invited Holmes," said person stopped midway in tossing a letter to the fire, Watson heaved a sigh, "_us_ meant Mary, Lizzie and I…" he trailed off.

"I, _not invited t_o my own _brother's_ estate?" Holmes said incredulously, his expression remained unchanged though: bland.

"But of course you can come if you wish too; it is still your home after all. Mycroft was simply considering your schedule, might you be busy with… work." he knew this wasn't the case.

"Yes, how considerate of him." Holmes felt chagrined. "But I don't think I would, I wouldn't want to get in between you and your young family for the holidays."

Watson knew he didn't mean that, even if he said no he'd likely follow them anyways, that or immerse himself in tobacco smoke and cocaine for the next two weeks until they come back home. Watson was to say otherwise but Mary got ahead of him.

"Please come along Mr. Holmes, it has been a while that you've spent time with all of us. Poor Lizzie quite misses your company." As if on cue Elizabeth ran towards him and sat on his lap. She gave him a sweet smile reminiscent of her mother but she had her father's eyes.

"Well I suppose I _can_think it over…" he patted Lizzie's head gently and she scooted off to the coffee table, golden ringlets bouncing, to play with the china set.

After a moment of silence where Holmes appears to be pondering, Watson decided to speak.

"It will be merrier if you do, old chap, just like old days. You still have time to weigh it out; we won't be leaving till next week." Holmes relaxed a bit and smiled at the happy couple before him. "But in the mean time, do try to engage yourself in something Holmes; it's for your own good."

Holmes smiled, Watson smiled back hoping this was going somewhere.

"Watson, you do understand I value our friendship very much and that I'd go to great lengths to have you by my side and your favor in many endeavors yet to come." Holmes suddenly sounded sentimental, a shock for Watson.

"Well- Of course Holmes, why you are after all my best man and Lizzie's god father and if chances are that you should go the same way, although I hardly expect it," he said with a laugh, "I will be there for you too."

Watson exchanged smiles with his wife, he didn't know where this conversation was going but if Holmes was to sound light-hearted then he'll play along.

"That is such a relief to know Watson, I expect you to keep your word." Holmes smiled again, "by the way, I think you should leave now, Elizabeth had just ingested my ear medication beverage."

"_Holmes!"_

**A/N: So there goes my first chapter. not much detail there yet but keep reading! Oh and Please please please with puppy dog eyes and ice cream pies. please review! ^_^ whether my grammar sucks or suggestions they will be appreciated. ^_^ They're like a bottle of rum each! XD**

**-Jacques Sparreaux**


	2. The Polar Bear

**The Polar Bear**

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><p>More snow and night had fallen. Holmes was on his knees moping up Lizzie's mess on the floor with a rag; the child had a gift for projectile vomiting and covered a generous area. Mrs. Hudson refused to help him.<p>

_It was your fault in the first place leaving volatile liquid within a toddler's reach! Ear medication Sherlock_ Holmes!_ EAR MEDICATION! Thank goodness it was not the formaldehyde! Had it been, I will make sure I embalm you myself, ALIVE, and make a heck of a job out of it! _

She shrieked at him after the Watsons had left hurriedly.

The mess also reached a part of his side table, Holmes took a double take, he looked back at the coffee table then at the side table again, the distance was no mean feat, quite a gift his goddaughter had. He submerged the rag into a bucket of warm water; no way he'd touch anything cold in this weather, rung it, and began wiping up the small trinkets afflicted. His hand landed on a small frame, which he almost forgot still existed.

_Even this wasn't saved, _he thought to himself.

He ran the wet rug over the glass, ridding it of gastro-intestinal debris. Her face surfaced, and although her head was tilted to the right and her eyes not meeting his, he had a feeling that the woman in the photograph wanted him to look at her, a rather characteristic coyness she possessed.

It had been almost three years that he had not seen nor heard of Irene Adler, it has also been a while since he let her permeate his thoughts. The file with her name was constantly updated, but even he could no longer tell if the thefts, scandalous affairs and espionage stories in the articles were committed by her. There was something off, something missing, as if he needed to whiff a trace of that Parisian perfume as evidence of her actions.

Something in the back of his mind told him he misses her, but no, Sherlock Holmes would not agree, he'd happily have an argument with his own brain had it come to that.

What had happened to Ms. Adler?

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><p>Holmes rolled on his side and buried his face into a hard make shift pillow, his hand upending a tea cup that he had brought to bed last night, if you can call his tiger rug a bed. It had been four days since the Watsons visited, Holmes had done nothing but sleep, wake up to eat, smoke, strum at his Stradivarius and then sleep again.<p>

His entire mail stack had become kindling; no mail had come for him at all. There was also no apparition of Mrs. Hudson. For the past four days, he'd wake up at noon, open his door and find his daily paper and a tea tray laden with food and drink enough to last a day on the floor mat. Before he went to sleep, he left the empty tray set outside the door lest he wanted to starve the next morning.

The spilt tea soaked into his sheets and onto his back. He sat bolt right up, it had gone cold.

Holmes rubbed his eyes and set the tea cup aside. His pocket watch showed him twelve minutes past three, the light that filtered through the gaps in his curtains told him that he had slept all day again.

"Oh good, you're finally awake. I have been sitting here since half past noon."

Sherlock Holmes spun around into defensive position, grabbed the nearest object his hand could grace:

a teaspoon.

Irene Adler had been sitting on a chintz chair right behind him the entire time; tea cup in hand. The coffee table was covered with food; tea, pastries, crushed walnuts, biscuits, and swelling brown olives. The 'pillow' he had snuggled his face into was her booted foot. She giggled and smiled at him.

"You must be hungry; tea's gone cold though since you sleep an awful lot." Holmes didn't answer but stood up and brushed himself off, his eyes travelling the room looking for things that weren't there, after all the woman was a kleptomaniac. But somehow he felt a little more at ease with her than before, but that was only a little. Minute. Microscopic. He would expect a few things gone but a revolver to the head wasn't likely, he was sure of it.

"Do forgive my intrusion; Mrs. Hudson had let me in." she sipped her tea, "She look quite pleased actually; muttered something like 'burden has been lifted'. Have you been giving the poor lady a hard time again?"

He kept silent but selected a particularly large olive, his fingers inspected the smooth skin; feeling for any tell tale sign of syringe punctures just incase, there were none, he smelled it then popped it into his mouth. He didn't take his eyes off her for one second nor did she from him,

"I've missed you Sherlock." Her voice was laced with honey.

"That's nice to hear Ms. Adler, I miss myself too." He ate another olive. " Funny you should show yourself though. That time I left France I heard you boarded a train to Italy and got married there. Well it had been three years after all, the usual extent of your marriages takes shorter, must be about time I expected you to come back and hunt for another unsuspecting victim."

"Aaaaw, so you miss me too!" Irene clasped her hands with feigned glee.

"Tell me Ms. Adler," He ignored her sentence and walked to his desk by the fire place, placing satisfactory distance between them, "how many unfortunate beasts had you instructed your coach to run over on your way here?"

The Woman was clad in animal from head to toe.

"Albino peacock plumes and swan down in your young rabbit velvet head fascinator, customized lamb leather boots, your winter coat of a very rare and elusive silver mink. I can tell it's _fresh_, the poor creatures were halfway shedding into their white winter fur when they got hunted thus the silvery snowy white,"

Irene merely smiled as he went on,

"your muff; another rare hide; white fox, and although I can't really see, but it would be fitting of today's fashion to assume your gloves are made of soft rabbit leather. You are a walking carnage!"

_You look beautiful._

Irene batted her lashes before standing up, Holmes tensed and half expected her to pounce with blade in hand. "I'm afraid my tea time has run out, I'll be going now."

That caught him slightly by surprise, had he actually offended her?

"It was nice seeing you again but you see by four o'clock I have a rather important engagement."

"Don't you always." He said dryly. She just smiled; it was starting to infuriate him.

"You look thin Sherlock,"

"You look like a polar bear." Another smile.

"But besides that you haven't changed a bit, darling."

"You look more animalistic than you already were." She smiled at that again.

If only her aura wasn't immaculate and if only it wasn't Irene Adler's, he'd throw a book at that face. She walked towards him and once again he threw his arms in front of his body to block any forthcoming assault. She pecked at his cheek, and with a turn and a ruffle of skirts she was out the door. He just stood there, arms still up in defense.

"See you around dear!" she called from the stairs.

Holmes snapped out of his stupor and did odd jobs in a rush; he threw the pastries and nuts to the fire and the tea to a dying potted plant in the corner, he kept the olives though. He threw the curtains open,

"GOOD_ GOD!" _with a thud he fell on his backside upending a chair, the afternoon light was blinding. Staggering on his knees and blinking away red spots in front of his eyes, Holmes flattened his face to the cold glass not wanting to open it into winter air and spotted her.

Irene Adler had just gotten off the front steps and slinked down the side walk. Had it not been for her dark hair, she'd have totally blended in with the snow. He expected her to turn into a back alley, but she walked into the direction of a rather fancy coach. It was black like most of London's transport but it had ornate silver lamps and at the door; silver filigree surrounded a gold crest:

The Victoria Theatre.

Holmes got up; his mind whirring, he threw on his thickest coat and cloak and made sure to slam her framed portrait face down before he left. If there's one thing he's sure about Irene Adler it's that she's taunting you to chase her, and Sherlock Holmes was just that;

the persistent hound to her wily fox.

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><p>Her carriage stopped at his favorite theatre, The Victoria Theatre, a wonderful structure built as a tribute to the coronation of the queen. Holmes found out that her four o'clock 'engagement' was a last minute rehearsal for tonight's premier of a new opera, he had seen the ad in the paper but having no inclination for entertainment he did not mind it.<p>

Adler, as it turns out to be, was the star. He almost did not recognize her face in the painted opera poster. To his amusement the name was not Alder, but Amour; Elizabeth Amour.

_Stage name apparently. _

He grimaced, 'Elizabeth' did not suit her, nor did 'Amour', and as Irene she was too self-absorbed to hide her own name, thus the handler was left with that task. The handler was most likely a helpless romantic to think of such a tacky over used first name and an even tackier surname.

Holmes contemplated trespassing into the premises; the theatre won't be opened until tonight, and sneak into her dressing room. He wanted to, he _needed_ to see her, for what reason he was unsure but past experiences and instinct told him to give chase.

He came to a decision to go back later when the theatre opens, by then people will be swarming in the front, stage hands and actors will be busy in the backstage. He'd have to sneak in by a back door; it will be much easier to blend in while people are in a state of semi-panic.

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><p>Holmes counted the minutes, the pre-opera cocktail opens at half past seven and the opera begins at eight. He had been there by seven and planned his entrance carefully. Disguised as a grubby, soot covered bystander nobody paid him attention, he observed closely where the stage hands entered.<p>

For sure during opening night security would be heightened and every door will be covered, after all this is a highly anticipated opera and a box seat in The Victoria nonetheless will be occupied by its namesake. Identification would be needed among ushers and even the simplest of workers would have to pass through security measures.

He bided his time, surely there will be that one moment that his targeted entrance: a stage hand fire exit that no one used anymore will be scarce of guards. He sat there just a few paces away from the door, his clothes blended quite well with surrounding boxes. Holmes closed his eyes and listened for sounds from the inside.

Not a minute had passed when the hair on his nape prickled, he knew this feeling, he was being watched, worse he had been followed. _But since when?_ He waited, his stalker had obviously lost sigh of him and is now currently looking for him. From where he sat he can see the man.

_Young usher, about eighteen years of age. _

He was like a shadow, walking so lightly and gracefully he was almost gliding.

_Movements are springy, swift and light; a trained dancer._No wonder he didn't detect him at first. The boy sniffed, _but too thin and sickly to participate in the production; thus employed as an usher._

He could not perform a full arm and headlock on the boy unless he wanted to break his body, so he used the classic trip-and-pin-down-trick.

Within seconds he held the boy's arms behind his back and a hand over his mouth to muffle incase he shouted.

"Who sent you to follow me?" he hissed into the boy's ear.

"Mademoiselle …" the boy gagged, Holmes loosened his choke hold ever so slightly, "dans… _La photograaaphie." _He dropped his hold, the boy gasped for air.

_Irene…_

"C'est elle envoyer toi?" bewilderment etched on Holmes facebut he wasn't surprised, _she sent him, she knew I'd come_.

"Oui monsieur," he said massaging his throat and gave Holmes a small smile. Holmes watched carefully as he fumbled for something in his pockets; it was a ticket and he handed it to Holmes.

"She reserved me a box seat?"

the usher was silent for a moment, clearly translating what Holmes said in his head then nodded,

"Box No. 2?"

Holmes' knees nearly buckled, he would practically be sitting next to The Queen herself.

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><p><strong>AN: Horray for Irene! lol sorry, just a silly fan. ehehe. quick notes, The Victoria Theatre; i don't know if one really exists or not and too lazy to google it, but if it doesn't then I guess its just gonna be my little fictional theatre. ^_^ and please comment me on the French, haha I just got those sentences by piecing phrases together from my laptop french thesaurus.**

**So anyways... DID I GET YOU GUYS HOOKED? DID I? DID I? well I wish I did... Then on to chapter threeeeee!**

**- Jacques Sparreaux **


	3. Marlene Madder

**Yay! I have my first few reviews! Okay sure, they're not as much as other authors get in a day but heck! I am one happy *beeeeeeep*!**

**Sorry sorry sorry for not updating right away! I had actually written five of these down before I published the first two chaps but then I realized I was not yet fully or rather at the least equipped to write Holmesian stories. D:  
>So I did what any self-respecting Holmesian fanfic writer would do: read ALL the canons!<br>But since I can be picky a lot, I don't read e-books, I HUNT! for them books, I actually did a book hunt in all the bargain bookstores and even the expensive bookstores here in our city (not a big one at that) for any SH compilation. I am a book person, totally addicted to that sweet scent of musky, dusty, old, yellowing, long abandoned books that simply scream _UNEARTH ME! _I found two compilations and with the mercy of God which Holmes does not believe in had the _SCANDAL_ in it. *HAPPY FACE* at the end I only found 12 stories. *sob* **

**so there goes my sad excuse for not updating fast, I had to stock my knowledge on Sherly to fully understand his methods, attitude and constitution, forgive me I can be very anal about the stories I write but I make sure that my readers will enjoy them. :)  
>as an apology I made this chappy extrrraaaaa longer. HAHAHAH<strong>

**again. THANKYOU FOR THOSE THREE WONDERFUL PEOPLE WHO REVIEWED! i will include you in my last will. :D**

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><p><strong>Marlene Madder<strong>

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><p>By the time Francois had finished explaining how Alder instructed him to find Holmes (<em>look for a funny looking man loitering by the broken fire exit just after the play had started, I assure you, you will only find one and that's him<em> were her exact words in English); he had started calling him Frankie, much to the boy's led him in by the stage hand's entrance, with his usher's identification and Holmes exclusive ticket, the guards did not question although looked Holmes from head to toe. They did have to inspect him for weapons though.

Fortunately it was one of those unfortunate days when Holmes forgets to bring his revolver.

The opera had already started when he sat himself on his plush velvet winged chair in box no. 2. He didn't pay much attention at first (it wasn't Irene's part yet) since he was too star-struck with the fact that just a few meters in the adjacent box, sat Queen Victoria herself, garbed in complete widow attire as per usual.

Later on he ignored the royal's presence since he knew he had serious observation to do.

It was during scene five, when the then young country girl had blossomed into a beautiful young woman and captured the hearts of men, did Holmes snap into attention to the was hearing a beautiful melodious voice, a gentle trilling of a contralto voice; it was her.

In the entirety of the nine years since her scandalous affair with the Bohemian King, he knew but not once had he the chance to hear her singing.

Why, her voice would bring the best violas to shame, nightingales would fall dead in their cages to her talent and Holmes, he would put it to good use as a resource for his learnings! Suppose he could use her voice for his scientific musical theories! Not that her singing could turn a pack of hungry wolves into simpering lap dogs or maybe calm down a raging elephant, well it wouldn't hurt to try. Her American accent always had an effect on him; either annoyed him on end or triggered a warm feeling in the pits of his stomach. But her song did so much more, like; making him forget his real purpose as to why he was here in the first place.

By half past eleven Holmes stood up and quietly got out his box, he had grasped the entire plot of the story long ago and got bored. In about half an hour it would be curtain call already, he had just enough time to look for his next destination.

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><p>Elizabeth Amour a.k.a Irene Adler stepped into her dressing room flanked by her personal assistant. She was tired yet felt fulfilled, tonight was a successful one, her throat slightly ached but a dose of tea and ginger draught would ease the strain. The Queen was there to watch, and London applauded her. She sat in front of her vanity still in her white wedding gown stained with blood; her costume for the final act.<p>

Three maids sauntered in, one refilled her washing basin with hot water, one carried boxes of presents and bouquets of roses, and the other helped her personal assistant in pulling out hairpins. They undid her costume while she wiped off her stage make up with the water. After that she said she could manage, and gestured them out of the room.

When she was alone, Irene stood up and examined the bouquets placed on her table. Most of them were beautiful red roses of all sized but she picked the one that was not; an arrangement of pink cabbage roses, pink rose buds, carnation, and other wild flowers tied together by a periwinkle blue and gold bow, she smelled it once before setting it on her dresser. She slipped her costume off and let it pool to the floor leaving only her corset and chemise to preserve her modesty. At the drop of her dress Parisian Perfume wafted through the room.

Holmes wasn't able to stop himself from inhaling deeply in his hiding place.

"So nice of you to make yourself available Sherlock, I see you've met my student? I hope you didn't break his arms, I did warn him about that." The Woman said unfazed, she pulled out one last hair pin and he watched as her chocolate locks fell just above her, Holmes tried not to look, buttocks.

"I opted not to, but it would be a shame to refuse an opportunity to sit next to Her Majesty," He replied in a low voice and stepped out from behind a curtain. "And the boy; such a nice fellow. He offered me wine and olives from you, and did you know they weren't poisoned?" he said in a mock surprised voice and sat himself on an armchair beside the table of bouquets.

"Curtains Mr. Holmes? You surprise me; I was half expecting you to be disguised as a chair actually." She smiled at him from her mirror, flipped her hair to her front and started loosening her corset strings.

"It's not my best concealment admittedly," he started plucking petals off a rose, "but I had-,"

Irene dropped her corset and chemise altogether,

"-to make do…"

"Well I wish you won't do anymore hiding, I'd like to see you downstairs at the Gala Cocktail, I was thinking you could accompany me, as my gentleman friend of course, or body guard, which ever way you work." She turned and walked past his chair (Holmes quickly took to admiring closely the rose bouquets beside him) towards the bed where her party clothes lay.

"How long do you expect it to last this time, until you've sapped him of his fortune?"

"Excuse me?" she said not looking up from picking out her clothes.

"You're engaged."

"I beg your pardon?" She slipped on a new chemise.

"But it's not official," he said nonchalantly. "The intricately cut sapphire pendant of your necklace is too round for today's jewelry fashion and the bauble itself quite too simple for an ostentatious woman like you. You wouldn't have it unless it was given by someone sentimental, worn by someone important or it was an engagement stone in disguise." A smirk played on the corner of his mouth, "If not it'd be fixed upon a ring on your finger and you'd be flaunting it under your co-actresses' noses." He looked at a velvet box on her dresser. "I opened it of course, just to satisfy curiosity." Irene went on layering petticoats over her slip. "The man, gathering by your attire this afternoon's rendezvous," He cleared his throat, "is a lover of game hunting and most agreeably would have an estate in the country. After all, those clothes, the wine and olives you've brought me where too exquisite to be market bought, where they? Albino peacocks are rare species, and the bouquet; cabbage and blue roses, carnation and wild flowers, quite a _very_ large and well tended estate at that!"

"Well done, tell me more." Irene said laughingly, she was still busy with the petticoats.

"You're favorite colors as I recall were a dark rouge and emerald; which makes the periwinkle and gold ribbons clan colors. He's a Lord is he not, retired military man to be in fact, war wound inconveniencing his left left, couldn't see his medal at a distance but the tell tale glint was there. Albeit in his late fifties; he is dashing and _quite _handsome for his age. His wealth is immense I must say; Box seat No. 9 is usually reserved for the producers and investors of the play. Another reason was my own ticket; Box No. 2 is rather _very _exclusive, had he not been your sweetheart I wouldn't be there for free." Holmes said, much to his chagrin. "What gave it all away admittedly was lost to me at first. Why he chose to watch by the stage's right wing was almost a mystery to me until I've noticed most of your comings and goings originated there."

He looked at her through the mirror (she was now half decent) with a smirk pulling at his lips. "You would have me escort you to hush down the already brewing rumors, but afterwards where socialization permits it; you'll slip your hand in his arm. This production is your last after which you have decided on retiring, _again, _to be announced later at the party; precisely as to why the engagement is still kept discreet. A relationship between the prima donna and the producer of an ongoing play would be quite the scandal, a repertoire favorite of yours I must say. "

"Very good, you can now be considered an honorary member of the old gossiping hags in the costume department." She pulled on a corset and begun lacing it by herself.

"Such a fitting couple: eligible aging bachelor gold mine to marry a young pick pocketing seductress. I do hope he doesn't bore you, it would be such a loss if you divorce him." His sentence riddled with sarcasm. Holmes stood up and turned towards her; smirk on his face, twiddling a petal-less rose stem in his fingers.

"Oh he doesn't. He has a lot of fine qualities in fact."

"Being filthy rich and dying is one of that." Holmes treaded the floor towards her, as if his feet had a mind of its own.

"And I'll never get bored! He brings me along hunting most of the time."

"With your new taste in fashion it's a miracle he doesn't shoot you." He was nearer.

"He lets me shoot the game at times."

"Ah yes, future husband hunting made easier. No wonder you're so fond of him."

Irene was halfway done when she accidentally dropped one corset string and struggled to grab it when in an instant Holmes stepped behind her and resumed her lacing for her, she tensed when his breath ghosted her bare neck.

"I can manage," were the words she could muster to speak yet made no move to stop him.

Holmes could hear her heart pounding. Was it hers, or his? Her perfume was over powering but he kept his ground. His hands worked her strings while his mind was wording his next query.

"How long have you known him? Three years at most?" Irene looked up, that she did not expect him to deduce in just a look.

"Almost quite, I was back in Paris, hiding. From what I didn't know, Moriarty was dead and so was Moran; and you…" She shot him a sad look over her shoulder; he averted his gaze and pulled at the strings. "Too tight," he loosened them, "Well, I decided to start a new life there, scrapped up my old self and forced myself to forget the torture I went through." Her eyes had a far away look. "Then I saw auditions were held at the opera house for a new play…"

"You auditioned…"

"I did…" she smiled; Holmes had never seen that kind of smile on her face before.

"He was there, you seduced him beforehand and was accepted which answers to why you are now prima donna."

"No!" Irene yelled and faced him. Her eyes ablaze; she was mad, Holmes clearly pulled the wrong string. "I did not seduce him, I was rejected actually." She sat on the bed with a plop; voice caught in her throat and corset still undone. "Despite my luxuriant experience I was rejected since I was too old a judge had said."

Irene fiddled with her skirts when she spoke, a sign of unease. Maybe because the matter of her narration was too private to divulge? But to Holmes nothing was private. He listened earnestly as Irene continued.

"I was on my way back to my lodgings that evening when it started to rain and his carriage just happened to pass by. He offered me a ride and told me he loved my audition and so did the others but one, she was prejudiced towards Americans." She reached behind her back and finished lacing herself. "He regarded my less than manageable conditions when he saw the hotel he dropped me at and said to come tomorrow for a call back. Unanimous decision told me I was the next star. After that I had the opportunity to thank him but with such close premises we saw each other more frequently." The angry look had changed into that weird smile again, she looked up at him and Holmes actually saw emotion in the woman's eyes, he felt a stone drop in his stomach and decided not to say anything more.

"Well he did a great job of getting you out of pick pocketing." He mentally berated himself, that was not 'not saying anything more'.

"He loves to spoil me, how can I say no?" The spicy tone of voice Holmes knew as Irene was back. "Now," she stood and walked towards the bouquet table; her petticoats rustling, one hand on hip and a finger to her chin, "as my escort, you should be looking better than the best, well or course not better than Robert I suppose." She said with a smirk.

"His first name?"

"No shit Sherlock."

She started clearing out the rose bouquets, tossing some into a bin, and took two gift boxes from underneath; one was flat and wide, and the other one boxier and smaller.

"Here," she pushed them into his arms, "complete dress clothes set and new Italian leather shoes, they're your size. Let's just say it's a present from my travels." She then took a towel from her dresser, wrung it in the basin water and started attacking Holmes' soot smeared face.

He flinched.

"GOOD _GOD _WOMAN! IT'S COLD!"

Holmes stood at the middle landing of the grand staircase, flipping his pocket watch open every few seconds.

_Why women take ages to pull on a dress I will never know. _

After Irene had scrubbed his face and he had changed she shooed him out and told him to wait by the stairs. Prim and polished, his hair was brushed back, a cravat neatly tucked into his new dress shirt and his waist coat was just the right fit. The social crowd bellow him were congratulating the minds behind the play, (he felt rather disappointed to find out the Queen has left early). Most of the men where old, superbly rich and leaned on canes with them, flanked by very young women, debutantes adorned with ludicrous jewelry, tittering every time a gentleman pressed his lips to their hands; Irene Adler was not out of place in such a crowd.

A champagne glass was struck three times and the crowd quieted down, an usher at the top of the stairs announced:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Prima Donna: Elizabeth Amour!"

She appeared at the centre and looked more immaculate than he had ever seen her before. Applause broke out from the crowd. Before she covered the twenty steps down where his hand would meet hers to escort he had taken in every inch of her image. Her long hair had been pinned loosely at the top of her head with ornate vine-like gold filigree; a small tiara of the same design gave her a dignified look; sapphire drop earrings framed her face, and the engagement stone dangled as a pendant from a gold chain choker, enticing one to look down to her décolletage , which he did. Well if she was going to dress this way he might as well appreciate her effort, he Holmes appreciated beauty and she Irene, was indeed beautiful.

Her skin glowed in the velvet emerald ball gown that bared the shoulders. He raised a palm in waiting for her satin gloved hand. "Accompanied by her gentleman friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes." The usher finished when his hand clasped her dainty one.

"Elizabeth." He rolled the name on his tongue.

"Yes dear?" she said between her smile while fluttering her fingers to her audience as they descended the last few steps.

"Such an over-used, tasteless, shoddy choice of a name makes one seem desperate to sound like royalty. Have I mentioned it sounds horrible on you?" they made their way slowly through the greeting crowd and she linked her hand in his arm.

"I know right? I immediately fired my then publicist who came up with that, but the French people caught on to it so… C'est la vie." An elderly lady congratulated and pecked at her cheek.

"Well generally it sounds horrible all by itself, then of all people it was used on you. Kind of like a double negative if you please." He shook hands with a man who recognized his work. "This is your second retirement from the theatre is it not? You're retirement party is quite the event."

"Of course, I am Elizabeth Amour after all." She said jovially, and greeted a few more admirers. Holmes received his fair share of pleasantries too. After shaking a few more hands and recognizing a few previous clients Holmes was quite beaming. "I must say Sherlock; you're enjoying this aren't you?" Irene laughed. He didn't reply at that.

"He was terribly bored and I advice him to have activities planned out,"

John Watson's voice came from behind, they turned and he was there alright, Mary on his arm in an orange ball gown. Holmes cringed at the sight. "What I did_ not_ expect was this." He took Irene's hand and pressed it to his lips. "It was a wonderful opera Ms. Amour." He gave her a quick wink and gestured his eyes over to his wife; she did not yet know who Irene really was. The star smiled at that.

"We enjoyed your performance very much Ms. Amour, it was a thrilling tragedy, such a loss that your character; the lead had to die." Mary quipped, she seemed rather star-struck.

"That's why it's called a tragedy." Holmes said between his teeth none too discreetly.

"Thank you very much." Irene elbowed Holmes in the rib. "I presume you are the Mrs. Mary Watson?"

Mary looked astonished. Irene realized her mistake; John Watson had not introduced themselves yet.

"Why yes, yes I am indeed! It's such a pleasure to be recognized by you! How did you-? Have you been acquainted with my husband before?" Watson's brows furrowed and started to explain, but Irene was quick to fake a simpering smile and looked at Holmes instead. Mary caught on and her eyes widened in amazement.

"Ah yes that quite fits. Mr. Holmes and my darling John- Wait.. Mr. _Holmes?" _She was obviously noticing it was Holmes just now._ "_With a_ lady?_ Why that's-"

"She's a client. I mean _was_. Before. In Paris. Lost a gem you see, clumsy little creature really." Holmes said quickly, his glare burned a hole between Irene's eyebrows. She batted her eyelids and continued to smile. "Invited me here as some sort of body guard…"

Mary seemed to accept the fib and went on lavishing Irene with compliments. While the ladies talked, Holmes pulled Watson away to a cocktail table.

"What are you doing here?" Watson started.

"What are _you_ doing _here?"_

"She sent me the invitational tickets in an anonymous envelope. Mary's heard of Elizabeth Amour and wanted to see the play."

"Tut, tut Watson! You know better than accepting invites from an unknown sender!"

"I'd had figured you'd be lurking when I saw her on stage."

"Clearly she has other intentions than having familiar faces around."

"Wait, you haven't answered my question! Why are _you_ here? Seems like the appropriate question is _how._"

"I…" Holmes plucked a champagne glass from the table, "followed her..." Watson gritted his teeth at what Holmes said.

"How many times-" he started.

"She's up to something Watson-."

"Have I told you-"

"And her motives-"

"To stop getting _mixed_-_up"_

"Appear most-"

"With the likes-"

"Sinister!"

"Of_ Irene Adler!" _Watson snarled into Holmes face, his spit hitting the other square in the eye.

"Who's Irene Adler?" Mary came and took her husband's arm, her eyes still wide after having talked to Elizabeth Amour personally. "Isn't she the friend of yours who died years ago?"

Holmes scoffed, "Friend? More like fiend." He muttered under his breath.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh no darling," Watson shoved a glass into her hand, "I mean yes! But you misheard me, I was talking about uh…_Marlene_… yes, Marlene Madder. This one's a uh—"

"Old crone." Holmes interjected.

"Lives right down Baker Street." lied Watson.

"Who's cat-." Holmes searched for words.

"He experimented on." Watson almost gasped for air.

Mary blinked. "How,.. Nice." She grimaced.

"Sweetheart, where's Ms. Amour?" Watson noticed Mary had approached them alone.

"Oh, I was too flustered to go on talking but she introduced me to the producer; Lord Barrington, she's over there with him right now."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: do you wanna be part of my last will? then what are you waiting for? REVIEW THIS CHAPTER NOW. :D**

**hahaha, no seriously, I need ****abiso, ****adviso, advice. and suggestions from the lot of yeh!**

**So there goes my third and longest chapter yet! What'cha think? Holmes is finally gonna meet Mr. Adler II. (lol) or shall we call him the B-Man!**

**Farewell me 'earties! I shall send the next chapter as a message in a bottle!**

**-Jacques Sparreaux**


	4. Stars, Sparks, Angels and a Comet

**Author's Note: Updating quickly right now. I'm so happy that I've received such nice responses, thank you so much for supporting me guys. ^_^**

**I had to edit this a few more times. hehehe. Well actually it was done weeks ago. like most of my fic, but I needed to study more about Holmes and Watson and watching the 1st movie a few more times (I refuse to illegally download the 2nd because I'm saving up for the DVD :D) and reading some of the books again and again to really capture their relationship and nature. As you see this is a Sherlene fic but heck I'm a fan of bromance myself!**

**So here is chapter 4 ^_^_^_^_^_^_^**

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><p><strong>Stars, Sparks, Angels and a Comet<strong>

* * *

><p>Surely enough she was there across the room with her back to them, hand touching the arm of a tall and well built man with dark coppery hair shot with gray in some parts. His broad shouldered torso slimmed down to a triangle and his arms and legs show an evidence of great physical exertion and practice. If memory serves him well Holmes would say that it was once more the King of Bohemia whom Irene was with. She along with the other people in their circle was laughing to something he had said. Irene turned her head and caught Holmes eye, she gave him a wink and whispered something into her companion's ear.<p>

Lord Barrington and Irene Adler excused themselves and made their way towards Holmes and the Watsons. To unsuspecting bystanders theirs was a fitting couple; a lovely opera star and a reputable character of a man, but Holmes and Watson knew better.

"Dear friends!" Irene addressed them almost too enthusiastically, her face beaming. "I introduce to you the producer of tonight's play, a beloved theatre patron and a dear friend, Lord Robert Alfred Worcestershire Barrington." The man bowed his head curtly at them, his handle-bar mustache twitched up at the corners into a handsome smile.

Holmes extended out his hand at took the man's in his for a vigorous shake. "Lord Worcestershire Barrington! Such a pleasure! I must say I truly enjoy your sauce, it gives one's palate a savory tickle and provides bland dinner trout a wholesome flavor."

The Lord blinked back his surprise, Watson stared at Holmes, Mary looked aghast, but Irene laughed it off. "Sherlock Holmes, Lord Barrington, a friend of mine. I believe I've mentioned to you his tales of sleuthing and eccentric manners? He is currently acting as my body guard tonight."

As if Irene's voice had snapped him back, the man recovered his voice and greeted Holmes, "Ah yes, of course, of course! How can I forget someone you often so fondly reminisce to me about?"

Holmes and Watson exchanged raised eyebrows at that, "Surely wonderful and detailed reminiscences perhaps Lord Worcester-"

"Please! Please omit my mother's maiden name and address me like the others would, it is quite a mouthful for anyone to say. After all good sirs you must know that a friend of Ms. Amour is therefore a friend of mine as well!" he took Holmes hand again but his huge frame meant great strength and a firm grip that shook Holmes' entire arm.

"These are the Watsons; Dr. John Watson, Mr. Holmes' trusted friend and colleague, with his wife Mrs. Mary Watson née Morstan." Irene introduced the couple.

Lord Barrington beamed at them and took Mary's hand. "Madame," he pressed his lips to her hand. Holmes wasn't sure whether she giggled because his graying moustache tickled her hand or his rich baritone tickled her ears. "Ah forgive my honesty but you are a sight to behold Madame, I have heard and witnessed the fair haired beauty of the Morstan daughters myself. My late wife," he looked sideways at Irene as if for permission, it was returned with a sweet smile, "was a Morstan. Katarina Isobel Morstan, and judging by your wide eyes you knew her?" he chuckled.

"Why of course! She was a distant cousin of my dear late father, I was very fond of her as a child but then she got married, it had never occurred to me that I would meet the man who took away my dear aunt!" Mary said laughing. "As I grew up people would liken me to her, they say we share the same features…" she shied down.

"Well would I be offending your dear husband if I were to confirm your words?" his eyes sparkled. Mary blushed and Watson laughed.

"Not at all, not at all Lord Barrington, my wife's beauty deserves to be appreciated, it's hard work all by myself." it was Watson's turn this time to be awestruck as he shook the man's huge hand. "I must say are you the same Captain Barrington back in the Afghan war?"

"Ah! A fellow war veteran in Dr. Watson! Yes I am a Barrington and have participated in that day in time, but sadly no I am not who you think."

_Man has a poetic way with words… _

"The Barrington you're addressing is my late twin brother; Captain Henry Barrington, may he rest in peace." He bowed his head curtly and raised his glass. "I was there but in another camp, tending to the injured."

"Oh, so you are a doctor also?" Watson face lit up.

"To a certain extent," he smirked under his bushy mustache; a handsome smirk, "They were short in medical staff and all I had to do was disinfect wounds, stitch up and assemble splints, there is not much difference between animals and humans in that field. I studied veterinary medicine when I was younger, but was not graced the opportunity to become one. I had other duties to perform, and the death of our father automatically ascended me to Lord; my brother and I are twins you see but I came first they say."

Holmes just stood there studying him (_Speaking and articulation are precise; breathing is fit and intact: Snoring ruled out) _and the charm he had dispersed over his friends, but what had caught his attention was how Irene Adler behaved. When the lord mentioned his late wife Holmes expected Irene's pupils to narrow but she consented with a gentle smile, and all the while they where talking her face glowed and she subtly leaned into the man's arm, the other also leaning back.

Holmes was not an expert understanding emotion himself, but the body language and the atmosphere of comfort and closeness that surrounded the two seemed too much for him to register. He felt his cheeks grow hot and his grip on the champagne glass tighten.

"Holmes? _Holmes!" _Watson waved a hand over his face. "Don't worry sir; it happens a lot of times, especially in a crowded place." Watson assured Barrington. He snapped his fingers, "Ah there you are!" he said when Holmes's eyes shifted, "Are you alright old cock?"

"Quite fine mother hen."

Watson scowled. "Yep, he's fine alright. Lord Barrington was just asking you about your profession. You like talking about that, don't you?" he phrased his last sentence as if talking to a mental patient.

"Hmmm… Work, has become slow lately." Conversation-wise, that was the most uninformative sentence he had ever let out. Holmes contemplated whether to go on or excuse himself, he suddenly felt tired; it was already almost three in the morning.

"I know _exactly _what you mean," a wide smile appeared on the lord's clean browned handsome face.

_Spent a lot of time outdoors. Bowlegged; time spent hunting and riding mostly._

"Although temporarily; crime has left London! You see in the middle of spring early this year I started a charity guild with Her Majesty's blessing to which the poor and the needy will be helped in terms of employment, shelter and rations be properly prepared and well supplied for this winter! I assume that my mission is accomplished to the height of its true purpose as to why there are no thefts, robberies and unnecessary casualties and murders caused by the struggle for survival." Holmes lips twitched and his grip on the glass tightened more. "You Mr. Holmes testify to that." an oblivious Barrington continued casually and happily.

Watson sensed danger; his hand immediately left Mary's side and weighed it on Holmes' elbow. The man indirectly responsible for his friend's unemployment leading to substance abuse and somewhat manic delusions stood in front of them. It was like dangling a poor mouse by its tail in front of a hissing cat.

_He's a good man, to become a future victim of a seductress; you're supposed to be on his side._ Holmes berated himself. As the conversation in front of him went on though, Barrington had set down his champagne glass and snaked his arm around Irene's waist.

Something snapped inside Holmes; he had felt it ticking there since Irene showed herself. Every nerve in his body commanded to raise his hand and throw champagne into the charming man's face but Watson held his elbow down. So in no better way to express his ire, he stuck out a foot behind him and tripped a passing waiter carrying glasses of champagne on a tray. What happened next was like falling dominoes. The waiter fell on an elderly lady who was squinting at the hors de oeuvres on another waiter's tray which somersaulted into the air dropping caviar and crackers into the décolletage of a well endowed lady and on the hair piece of a rather revered duke.

The glasses shattered on the floor alarming a group of chatty debutants out on their first opera who scattered bumping into people and making others slip, some glasses toppled over candle stands on the cocktail table, and the fire caught the spilt alcohol on the table cloth and onto the decorative drapes on the columns. Needless to say bloody panic had transpired in mere seconds, and in the fray Watson whacked the back of Holmes head with his hand before pulling Mary out to safety. Lord Barrington had run off to extinguish the nearest drape on fire leaving a confused Irene who was knocked out onto the floor when a careless usher ran past flailing a half filled water bucket.

Holmes was seeing spots and still on his knees after Watson's blow. He scampered on the floor looking for something grab onto that made sense and wasn't running around or screaming fire, then he remembered the unconscious Irene; he found the hem of her emerald dress protruding from underneath a table. Holmes crawled under and dragged her half unconscious body to his side just in time when what looked like a burning cherub from the balustrade above crushed the part of the table where Irene was under just seconds ago.

"Wake up!" he patted her face. Her head lolled to one side, he saw a large bruise forming on her right temple. _Concussion. Hunger and exhaustion from the performance already drained her plus the blow completely shut her down, there's no way she could wake up at any rate right now. _Holmes found them in a predicament when the table he was under in started smoldering and they were trapped, another balustrade cherub had fallen and fire surrounded them. Irene's gown caught fire at the hem; he pulled at it and tore it off. He can't think clearly; the smoke and heat was smothering him and much worse to Irene, Holmes started to get dizzy.

Someone had kicked away the cherub and threw the table over; Watson's face appeared through the haze. Holmes scooped Irene and Watson helped him up.

"Always glad to see you Watson!" He smiled; his face was sooty once again. Watson shook his head, and gave a small laugh.

"I can see he touched a nerve on you."

His eyes traveled the burning area; ushers where throwing buckets and buckets of water at the walls, able bodied men helped, and Lord Barrington was on the other side of the hall instructing an usher to wake up and evacuate the sleeping stage hands in the back stage.

"Let's talk later shall we?" he indicated to Irene, "You are a doctor after all."

* * *

><p>"Any sane reason why you brought her here eludes me Holmes! For all you know she could be awake pretending to be asleep and is eavesdropping on our conversation right now." John Watson said loudly hoping that if he was right, the sleeping form of Irene Adler on Holmes' sofa would stir.<p>

In the aftermath of events, Watson had taken Mary to safety, kissed her and instructed a carriage driver he knew to take her home to Cavendish Place, while he ran back in realizing his friend had no sense to come out. It was a good thing he did or else the two would have been roasted. He had checked her pulse and breathing and placed cold compress on her bruise. The sky outside was slowly turning pink; dawn. He sat on the arm chair by the window, analyzing what Holmes had just told him.

"Don't worry, she won't be waking up in an hour or two, maybe three, but judging that she's quite tired, it's a four, if I feel humorous then maybe a five." He sat behind his desk closely observing Irene, a smile on his face and a vial between his fingers with a small label; _Comet._

"May I see that?"

Holmes tossed the vial to Watson; it still had half its contents inside.

"How sure are you that this is safe Holmes?" the sedative he held was somewhat uncommon to him.

"Simple, I survived it." He's smug smile got even smugger.

Watson sighed, his friend's hit and run relationship with Ms. Alder had more climatic happenings in it than his entire relationship with Mary, not that he'd ever admit it. But he was worried, very worried where this was going.

"Hmm… not a story I'd like to hear again. I'll keep this for now," he pocketed the vial. "You've had enough fun for tonight already."

"Oh believe me I did, but that was just an appetizer."

"Then there won't be a next course to this unhealthy diet of yours. This woman had been the cause of your near death! Being in her vicinity is like courting death itself!"

"I do not court an engaged woman Watson, and for the matter, I do no court at all."

"Then why did you bring her here?" Holmes played deaf, the doctor sighed. "That wasn't even my point. Look, bottom line is I want you to stay clear of her, for your safety and selfish as it may seem for my family's safety as well."

"What's your little brood have to do with this?"

"Well, in any trouble you are in I find myself involved as well. Now that we speak of this Woman greater evil had been heard of and I need to protect my family Holmes." His eyes had a pleading look in them, Holmes may not be very attached to Mary and Lizzie, but he cared for Watson and he hated it when the Doctor used that against him. "And if I have to strap you in a straight jacket and keep you in the cellar just to pull you away from Adler to do that, believe me I will." He chuckled at the end but Holmes knew his friend was sincere.

"Very well, but for the sake of what has been found out let us go through it once again?" this time he had pleading eyes.

Watson sighed in resignation; his friend will have his way any time he wants. "Alright, alright!" he took a deep breath. "So you're saying that _she_," he pointed at Adler, "is engaged to Barrington."

Holmes nodded, he sat back in his chair, eyes closed, the tips of his fingers meeting in front of his face.

"And that _you_ suspect her of ulterior motives as to why she's getting engaged."

Holmes nodded again.

"And that you're doing this… to protect him and his fortune,"

Holmes nodded.

"From her."

Holmes nodded.

"Yet he simply touched her waist and you threw the entire theatre into a fiery frenzy, _literally." _

Holmes's eyes shot open scowling at Watson. "What are you insinuating?"

"I am not insinuating anything," Watson laughed, "I am merely stating 'what has been found out'!" he didn't stop laughing at his friend's face. "This is what I am trying to tell you Holmes. Ms. Adler has a hold on you whenever she's around and I know for one that she will take it to her advantage and this time reduce you to nothing but another man she had met."

"Let's press on Watson; you're drifting from the topic."

"And _you_ are avoiding the topic!"

A bell pealed from afar signaling the morning, the overcast sky outside was turning bright. Watson got up and put on his jacket and hat.

"Where are you going? We're not done yet." Holmes got up as if to block his exit.

"Oh we're not? I've decided to leave after I've made my point." He slipped on his coat and grabbed his cane.

"Point refused!"

"Take it Holmes and make sense out of it. I have to leave, I promised Mary I'd be back by sunrise." He side stepped Holmes and made for the door, Holmes got ahead and wedged himself in the passage, hands and feet pressing against the door frame a foot above the ground. Watson sighed exasperatedly. "Get down Sherlock Holmes or I will have to hit you where it hurts." He raised his cane.

"STAY and listen to me! I'm telling you Watson, this Woman's mind has become more advanced during her absence and that she will seek revenge on me!" he huffed, his hands slipping their post.

"Then stay _away_ from her!"

"I wager Watson, I _wager _my profession! Hear me! I stake my profession upon the fact that there is a huge case to follow Irene Adler's sudden appearance!" His limbs gave way and he fell on his feet, his keen huffing face stared with wide eyes at Watson. The doctor pondered on his friend's words; Sherlock Holmes is not one to say something so abruptly and without reason all the more something so stupid, but then again he was under the influence of drugs most of the time so it could be the substance talking.

"Do you even hear what you're saying Holmes?"

"Heard it loud and clear old friend. My mind has been made up. You know my methods; there are more ways than one to confirm my suspicions-"

"That's right! _Suspicions! _You're doing guess-work Holmes!"

"I wasn't finished!"

Watson scowled, "Fine. Go on."

"There are more ways than one to do this, but I am lost without my Boswell, so to keep you interested and have equal footing and opinion sharing on this research, I shall present it as a wager! After all I do value your input Watson, as you have developed considerable sleuthing powers of your own."

That made sense to Watson, and his friend's praise of his insight made him reconsider. "And what do I get from all of this if I concede to your wager and win?" he narrowed his eyes at his eager friend.

"I relinquish my profession and will apply instead as professor in the university, sounds good?"

Watson gave a small nod but eyes still narrowed.

"Then you, well your share will be monetary, fifty pounds!" The price was alarming but Watson knew his friend would lose anyways so he let him drone on, "and of course, fifty pounds for me too once I prove I was right after all." Holmes looked positive. Watson chuckled.

"Whatever Holmes, I have to go, and about the country trip have you made up your mind?" he almost forgot to ask the detective about that.

"Oh that… well yes... I'll meet you then at the station the morning of the day after tomorrow." Holmes eyes met his but Watson knew his friend was thinking of something else.

"I take my leave; see you in two days then old chap! The station at nine and pack _clean _clothes!" He swerved past Holmes who still stood at the door and proceeded down stairs when he looked back, "Oh and Holmes…"

Said person turned.

"Do something about your visitor will you? I mean, send her home or something; her fiancé would be hysterical looking for her and _don't_ do anything stupid! I will ask Mrs. Hudson to wire me if anything comes up."

When he left, Holmes scoffed. Watson couldn't get him to wear proper dinner attire when need be yet he talks about straight jackets.

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><p><strong>AN: there it goes... comment i mean review or PM me up when you want to. oh, and PLEEEEEAAASE review. :D there are a lot of things mentioned here that would surely prick up the interest in some of you, especially the Holmesians at heart.**

** Like the case of Mary Watson for instance, for any one who has read The Sign of Four would know she is an orphan, but since in the movies that was altered I'd like to alter her history a bit too, so a slight extension of the family tree. XD**

**This was my first attempt at an action scene, well a scene full of action not fighting. If you guys weren't convinced with my writing tell me. Review on my story and my story writing as well. hahah please... I need it. :D**

**I guess this will become the usual length of my chapters. quite too long? I don't care, as long as you guys are satisfied.**

**So what would you guys think about Holmes becoming a University Professor? He could be the next Moriarty. XDDD**


	5. Paris, Patients and Pastries

**Paris, Patients and Pastries**

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><p>Holmes had almost forgotten about the unconscious woman on his sofa. He observed her, not letting his guard down lest she pounces; her breathing was low and steady. He did not know when he came there but found himself sitting down beside her sleeping form and closely watching her placid face; the purple bruise standing out from her pale skin. He tucked away a stray curl from her cheek letting his thoughts cloud with the Parisian perfume emanating into the room.<p>

Memories came rushing back, memories he had pushed to the very back of his mind to make way for new things, memories that he had kept locked away the moment he left her crying and broken on the Eiffel Tower three years ago. Why their formal goodbyes always happened in high places he never knew, but they left an impression on him all the same. He relived those moments in his mind, hoping this would be the one and only time he does so.

The time he opened the safe to find nothing but a letter, her framed photograph and the realization that he had lost the case, the time when they met again where one thing led to another and he woke up alone, naked and cold in their room in The Grand. When she got involved in the Blackwood case and this time he left her in hand cuffs on the unfinished bridge. When he knew that she was in London and still worked for The Professor, he had asked her out to dinner and she agreed but never came.

He recalled how devastated he was when Moriarty showed him the bloodied handkerchief. He almost believed her to be dead forcing himself to move on, but something in him knew.

Then a little after two years of hiatus after his publicized death, he was discovered by Moran abroad and was hunted down again. He found out that Moran danced her life on his palms...

Adler was alive, and she was sent after him, not to seduce or to weaken but to kill him for good.

He had broken through her wall once again and she surrendered to him after he had killed her captor.

Irene threw away the gun she had aimed at him and poured her heart out; she would not and could not kill the man she loved.

But Holmes wouldn't listen and could not bear anymore. He let her run, he told her to turn a new leaf, go back to Italy, she always liked it there, and then he left her sobbing.

The next three years he had spent swearing that no woman will ever break him again, no woman will defeat his intellect, and no woman will look down on him, not even The Woman.

She was erased from his memory, his male pride restored. The scandalous Bohemian affair never happened and he was never defeated by a member of the fairer sex.

Sherlock Holmes had sworn off women for good, again…

Yet her file remained updated, her photograph stayed put, and his heart remained confused…

And now this beautiful memory reject of his lay in his room on his sofa, openly mocking his present thoughts.

"_You'll miss me Sherlock." She fought to say despite sobs, "you always do."_

"_This time I won't." his back to her, and made his way down from the tower, Watson would be worried sick by now…_

"_You liar." She managed with a smile. He turned to face her and she immediately brightened up with restored hope. _

_But his next words crushed that hope as soon as it had come._

"_Good Riddance Ms. Adler. Au Revoir." _

Those were his parting words to her, yet three years later she returns them with a joyful greeting and a winter tea party. Why the man eater, the fortune seeker, the social climber, the ethereal beauty of The Woman that was Irene Adler always returned, he could not fathom.

But denial was pointless right now because when his gaze and his thoughts fell on the unconscious person beside him, he realizes just how badly he missed her. Gently cupping her face he lowered his nearer, the perfume over powering him. His lips gently grazed the bruised skin…

"Mr. Holmes, your breakfast and morning paper is here." Mrs. Hudson called from behind the door.

Realizing his position and the action he was about to perform, Holmes got up, horrified, and whisked his hand away from Irene as if she scalded him.

"Sherlock Holmes if you don't open up, the bacon will begin eating the eggs!" came landlady's sarcastic sing-song voice while knocking repeatedly.

He grumbled and pulled at his hair and opened the door just an inch to validate the identity.

"Nanny…" he said under his breath slow and sinisterly.

"Good morning," she said stiffly, "the tray won't be able to fit in that opening Mr. Holmes, also I have spare clothes for the patient."

"Patient? What patient are you talking about Nanny?" he held the door wide open with an outstretched arm, Mrs. Hudson swooped under this.

"Why the young lady of cou- Oh sweet Mother Mary! It's—it's-!"

Holmes got hold of the tray before she dropped it. The Nanny was silent with shock.

"It's not dead Nanny, it's alive, so don't go wiring Watson for nothing." He set down the tray; Mrs. Hudson clasped her hands to her mouth, slowly inching towards the sleeping woman. "Go on, poke it." Her face amused Holmes. "I dare you to."

"Elizabeth Amour!" she said in a hoarse whisper, Mrs. Hudson quivered with excitement. "Oh my goodness, you never told me Mr. Holmes!"

"There is nothing to tell and for the record, why would I tell you anything _Nanny?" _he sat on his desk and flipped the morning paper open.

**THE VICTORIA THEATRE CRUMBLES TO ASHES. **

He read through the article not entirely surprised, the cause of the fire was believed to be an accident, proving the fire department to be as talented as Scotland Yard.

Mrs. Hudson uncharacteristically peered close at Irene's face admiring her porcelain beauty. "No wonder she seems familiar, isn't she also the lady in your photograph?" she twirled a lock of hair in her fingers, and tucked it behind Irene's ear in a motherly way.

"She is not a lady, she is a thief, a seductress, an adventuress, and assassin, a wily one at that," he didn't look up from his paper, "her name is Adler, Amour is nothing but a stage name, I have her photograph for the one reason that she is a world-class criminal Nanny as I am studying her methods, and I am telling you this not because I trust you but in hoping you would shut up and please close the door as you leave."

"That is so romantic Mr. Holmes! You make such a fitting couple." Mrs. Hudson wasn't listening of course; she was fondly patting the soot off Irene's dress. "Now the doctor as it seemed has left her in your care, doubtful as I am with that, but I will be off to the docks today to buy fish for dinner! Now make sure she changes into these when she wakes up, her fare suffered terribly last night." She laid down the spare tea dress on the sofa arm and was her happy chatty self; Holmes had never seen the landlady act as such.

When she walked out she was mumbling to herself whether Elizabeth Amour would like her salmon baked or poached.

She liked it roasted on a spit like she had back in New Jersey, at least that's what she told him.

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><p>Her head was throbbing by the time she woke up, everything was fuzzy but she could tell the place was very bright, even her hearing was fuzzy but the slight tug on a lock of her hair was clear. She moved to raise a hand and pat down on the persistent pulling; it was getting annoying, but found that she couldn't do so.<p>

Irene Adler's vision cleared and her eyes met with a pair of unfamiliar crossed grey eyes. The owner was peering down on her dressed in a hospital gown, a thick lock of chocolate hair in her fingers; she was plaiting Irene's hair.

_Who the hell?_ "Ow_!" _The lady pulled really hard this time and Irene sat bolt up but with the lack of support from her limbs she fell back writhing on her bed like a worm. Cross-eyed Loony gave a low stupid laugh. Realization occurred to Irene that she was wrapped in a straight jacket, her entire face went red. "Geroffme!" she snarled and made to kick the loon off her bed but even her legs her wrapped; she was mummified.

Irene glanced around from her bed, the afternoon light showed she was in a ward, a mental ward to be specific, there were patients who played and made incoherent conversation with others, some walking around aimlessly talking to themselves and other were wrapped in a straight jacket like her, two doctors were also in the room, one was listening to a patient's incoherent drabble and scribbling on his clipboard while the other checked a catatonic' reflexes.

_How on earth did I get here? _She flopped her head down and started to recall the happenings with her heart racing and an unhelpful throbbing head.

The play, Holmes in her quarters, the gala, the fire, then after that everything had gone black. She closed her eyes and thought about one that stood out. _Holmes… Holmes… Holmes… _ She repeated the name in her head and things got clearer for her. _God damn Holmes… _She squirmed and shifted and buried her face into her pillow and let out a screech that sounded like a boiling kettle pot. Cross-eyed Loony gave a start and ran off wailing like a baboon. Irene squirmed and screeched and kicked her wrapped legs like a fish tail and her face was like a beet.

"Nurse!" she found her voice, "NURSE!" after a few more yelling a flustered nervous looking plump woman came to her bedside, clipboard in hand. Before the lady could even greet Irene got ahead. "Where am I? How did I get hear? Why am I hear and _most_ importantly; WHO TOOK ME HERE?" she thundered, no one looked up from what they were doing, apparently used to these kinds of outburst but the plump nurse sweated and shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

"Charring Cross Hospital, by foot, yer sick, and t'was yer aunt miss." Her mousy voice said.

"My _what?" _Irene snarled, the nurse flinched.

"Yer aunt. Chee said, yeh be suffering from hysteria and brought yeh here." She didn't meet Irene's eyes, well who would when she gives you a death stare? "Took yeh here about an hour ago and chee left, said chee'd be wiring yeh father, Miss Barrington."

"What did you call me?" Irene snapped and the nurse flinched hard this time she dropped her clip board. She picked it up and flipped a page with shaky hands.

"Marlene Barrington, miss," she read from the top of the page. "Yeh aunt's gone off to wire a Mr. Bobby Barrington, yeh father she told."

If she wasn't incapacitated at the moment Irene would punch the nearest living thing; that would be the poor nurse.

_SHERLOCK HOLMES!_

The nurse fidgeted with her clipboard and took out a parchment envelope. "Chee left yeh this." She handed the envelope to Irene who raised an eyebrow. The nurse looked confused.

Irene stared her down. "Oh sure, hand it over here to me so I can open it with my face!"

The nurse flustered, gave a small 'oh' and tore the envelope open and held it's writing in front of Irene.

_Loved the olives, hope you like the jacket._

She went off again like a boiling kettle. The nurse flinched once more and looked scared this time and shook in her place.

"You!" Irene's angry glare met the frightened brown eyes.

"Yes, mum?"

"Describe to me, how my _dear_ aunt looked like."

Holmes was not to miss the show; his bushy stick-on eyebrows didn't hinder his peripheral view of a frustrated Irene. He chuckled triumphantly under his even bushier beard and mustache. He tapped a reflex hammer on the catatonic patient's right knee cap; no response, left; no response either, well at least this served a good cover.

He was checking the finger reflexes when the nurse had begun describing his aunt costume. He saw Irene's face grow redder and redder, livid with rage, at the last she had let out another screech. The nurse ran out.

When she came back she had with her what Holmes was expecting, it was _who_ rather_. _Lord Robert Barrington came in with the nurse looking worried sick. At the sight of him, Irene quieted down and a smile of relief crept on her red face.

A coach man's jacket helped Holmes follow them out to where they stayed; The Grand.

_No surprise there._

No surprise either when he saw they stayed in different rooms, but he was surprised to know that Irene still took the old room. Holmes did not let memories deter him and with a little more snooping around he found out just what he needed.

Barrington is scheduled to leave for his country estate tomorrow, to where, he wasn't able to find out but surely enough Irene Adler will be brought along and where she was he'll make sure to be there. How he'll be able to conceal himself for the duration of his stake out he does not know but there is always a way.

Watson will have to wait at the station for no one then.

* * *

><p>A series of knocks and wood scraping against wood meant only one thing; his quarters were being infiltrated, but judging by the smell of wet dog, antiseptic, and the faint aroma of milk, it was only Watson.<p>

"Holmes? Holmes! Open up! What's going on? Why have you barred the door?" he called from outside. Holmes has indeed barred the door way with his wooden filing cabinet. Watson pushed again causing the legs to abrade the floor.

"My newly polished floors!" whined a second voice.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson I'm so sorry, won't happen again, _Holmes!_ Open up." He ratted on the door harder.

Said person grunted and got up from his tiger rug, and pulled the cabinet away from the door, deliberately dragging the cabinet legs against the polished hardwood flooring. The scraping was accompanied by a despaired sob from The Nanny. When the door way was freed Watson stepped in followed by Gladstone and a glum landlady. Mrs. Hudson set the tea tray she brought on the table and went out with a huff. The Doctor glowered at Holmes as if waiting for an explanation.

"You have too many questions at this time of the morning Watson; your wife has evidently influenced that on you. And about the door; I had too, if I left my quarters unguarded Nanny would be tidying the clothes I was about to pack last night."

Watson took a look around and Holmes had indeed packed two suitcases, but he was sure those weren't filled with clothes; the filing cabinet wouldn't be moved so easily if it was full.

"Well that's surprising, I made my way here from walking Gladstone to force you into packing but I'm quite impressed." The doctor decided to simply mask his suspicion. "I have your ticket for tomorrow morning here with me just in case anything happens at the least you won't be parted with it." He took out a ticket from his breast pocket and handed it out to Holmes.

"Ah, always like you Watson, so organized, so prepared,"

Watson gave a smug smile,

"So… so _motherly."_

His smile vanished.

Holmes set the ticket beside the tea tray without even glancing at it, he sat down and took a warm crumpet and began to munch. "You know Watson, I've been feeling rather excited for this coming vacation." He said merrily, eating the pastry. Watson raised an eyebrow to this.

"Oh really? Indulge me Holmes, the first time we discussed this you weren't in favor of the trip. Why the sudden change of mind?"

"I am not as indecisive as you make me Watson," he took another crumpet, "and besides, I'm not talking about Mycroft's estate, I'm talking about our little wager, and how I shall make quite a fortune out of you, but I was expecting that you would do something about this, you have become quick witted Watson, a great change actually."

"You lost me, what are you talking about?"

"You're making progress dear friend, little by little you're trying to outsmart me, and keeping your wife in the dark in the process."

"What? I would never lie to Mary!"

"You are a neat military man Watson, but by the growth on your jaw I deduce that either the winter morning is too dark to properly shave or you have lost your razor, or you purposefully skipped that to make more time. You have considerable lighting fixtures in your home so darkness is no hindrance, you only loose things when you used to live here on Baker Street because I borrowed them, and since the first two are ruled out we are left with the last one."

Watson held his breath, ready for the tirade of deductions from Holmes.

"It is only a quarter till eight. Your morning walks with Gladstone are not initiated until exactly eight lasting until half past nine whence you would spend the remaining half hour preparing yourself to open for practice. But during day-offs you would walk here to Baker Street, starting out at the same time, taking up at least half an hour to arrive. Judging also that you do not smell of the usual rose oil means that you have not informed your wife about your plans and she did not have the chance to greet you on your way out, had you she'd be up before you no matter how early. But to compensate for your sudden morning absence you took upon yourself to prepare your daughter's morning milk."

Watson just sat there and hung his head.

"Now why would Husband and Father of the year Dr. John Watson leave his family and household quite so early for his colleague's place? Why indeed, other than to foil said colleague's plans?"

Watson remained quiet and took the cup from the tray and poured himself tea. He lifted it to his lips when Holmes grabbed it.

"Mine. My quarters. My breakfast. My tea."

"But I haven't had anything."

"Well whose pretty little fault is that?" he raised the cup to his lips and took a generous sip, slurping loudly for the Doctor to hear. "Mind you Watson, you are improving but you lack practice! Your methods and techniques are sharpened yet you still don't observe! I commend you, though you need more training. Your plans are still faulty and your little stint this morning is far from hindering me from my quest." He rose from his seat and walked to the window for a smoke.

Watson closed his eyes and counted in his head. _Five… Four… Three… Two… _

A loud _THUNK_ came from where Holmes stood, then the unmistakable sound of flesh slowly slipping against glass. Watson looked around and found him kneeling on the floor with his face slumped and drooling against the window pane; unconscious.

Gladstone barked from where he sat and tilted his head as if to say 'What happened to master?'

Watson looked at the dog and sighed. "It had to be done Gladstone. Or else we wouldn't get anywhere if we leave him to his ways." He tapped the small lump in his breast pocket, feeling the shape of a crystal vial.

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><p><strong>AN: Am I updating too fast? doesn't matter. XD I'll have to admit it will be some time before I can upload chapter 7 though... I'm still working on it. **

**(by working, i mean it's still on a contemplative level)**

**So who wants me to make a little bit of a Prequel to this? Say let's call it... 'Lovers in Paris'? eww no. What about 'A Parisian Afterlife'  
>Yeah, I'm gonna make that. :DDD but not now :|<strong>

**NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE SET OUT IN THE EXCITING LONDON COUNTRY SIDE!  
>pray to God I finish it before next week. hahaha<strong>

**-Jacques Sparreaux **


	6. A Short Study on the Trends of Change

**A Short Study on the Trends of Change**

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><p>It was the second time that day Holmes woke up to material against material noise, only this time it was the grunt and occasional screeching of the train against the rails. A great lurch threw him up and he landed with his face on the dusty carpet floor of the cabin, a bark and a whine meant that he fell on Gladstone.<p>

A giggle like the tinkle of bells filled his ears.

Holmes looked up, coughing out the dust. The face of Mary Watson peered down at him from where she sat; beside her was her miniature version emitting the giggles.

"Uncle went fall!" Elizabeth clapped her hands and laughed again.

"Are you quite alright Mr. Holmes?" Mary managed to ask him.

Glandstone scurried away from him as he got to his knees, dusted himself and sat opposite Mary and Lizzie. "Never better! Were you not a governess before, Mrs. Watson?" he said in his snappy voice.

"Well yes I was, but I don't see why-"

"Then make good use of it, I don't like hearing my four year old god daughter misusing her verbs and tenses!"

Mary looked appalled.

"Please close your mouth Mrs. Watson, it does not do well for a lady to catch flies in her mouth during a train ride. Now tell me, where is your conniving husband?"

"He went out for a glass of brandy." She replied scornfully.

Elizabeth jumped off her seat and tottered towards Holmes and sat on his lap; he kissed her on the forehead. "Oh won't you look at that young Lizzie, we're on a train northbound!" He edged them nearer the window and she looked out to where he pointed. "I remember years ago I followed your parents on a train to Brighton and with such humorous consequences, don't you remember Mary dear? We should be passing a bridge somewhere here right about- Oh look there's one right now!"

Mary's eyes widened and snatched Lizzie away from Holmes. "John! He's awake!"

* * *

><p>John Watson had been pacing the length of the corridor between cabin 5A and 10A for quite sometime now. An old couple staying in cabin 7A next to theirs was now peering suspiciously at him through the little window on their door every time he passed their number. He couldn't blame them, he looked very anxious as if a suicide bomber aboard the train unsure of his plans. John Watson wouldn't be anxious like a rat out in a field on a moonlit night in fear of an owl if he did not do what he just did to his best friend.<p>

Holmes would disembowel him.

He took a breather and lit a cigar.

He heard an audible gasp and a string of agitated French coming from 7A. The woman was yelling in hysterics, Watson caught the phrase 'lighting a bomb!' in French. His eyes widened and started gesticulating through the window pointing to his cigar that it was not what she thought. The old man stood up and pulled down the blinds soothing down his wife, to which Watson himself calmed down with a sigh.

The train gave a big lurch, he lost his balance and slammed against the door of 7A, this time the paranoid woman started crying and reciting the Rosary in French. Watson staggered up and brushed himself and just as he began pacing again; Mary's voice called from 6A.

"John, he's awake." She said, her voice sounded tight. John Watson slid the door open just in time to let out a storming Holmes.

"Oh there you are my _good _friend! I was wondering where you've crawled into." He said with feigned sweetness.

Watson shifted uncomfortably on his feet and uttered with much effort, "Care for a cigar?" to which Holmes nodded and they made their way to the restaurant carriage. It was early in the afternoon and the carriage was occupied only by a few passengers who ate a late lunch. They found an empty booth and sat on opposite sides. Watson took out his cigar case which Holmes duly opened and proceeded to smoke one, but Watson just sat uneasily waiting for Holmes to rant, reprimand, insult, embarrass, throw things or come what may.

"Such a nice morning and such a nice weather to spend the holidays don't you think Watson?" the detective broke the silence, blue wreaths of smoke rose with every word from his mouth out the window into the cold northern country air, lack-luster eyes dreamily observing the passing scenery. "The countryside looks adequately snowed up. I can see nothing but snow and spruce and the grey over cast sky."

He didn't know what to answer to this, which was a stupid thing really because the man was simply talking about the weather, but Holmes never talked about the weather when there could be a thousand and one other things to talk about. _Never._

"Uh yes… I agree with you." Watson muttered.

"What's wrong Watson? Why do you seem so fretful? Did you have tea that did not agree with your stomach?"

And from that sentence everything would go downhill, he knew it and there was one thing left to do.

"Look, Holmes… I'm terribly sorry for what I did this morning; I just thought it was best for everyone's sake that you come with us. And- and I know shouldn't have, but believe me, it was out of desperation to keep you safe." He looked across at his friend who still gazed inattentively outside. "I'm very sorry… Honestly I am…"

He waited with baited breath, and with minutes passed that the other showed no signs of replying, the doctor had nothing else to do but set his eyes outside the window too. When the scenery changed from a snowy cliff side forest to a snow splotched meadow, Holmes finally spoke.

"Do you know Watson, that there is only one thing in the world that excites and upsets me most?"

His glassy eyed face turned to Watson who merely shook his head, he knew best not to answer or interrupt when Holmes is on the verge of telling him his reflections.

"It is Change my dear Watson, change. Nothing is more constant and yet undeniably capricious as change." he lit another cigar and took a long drag. "A change in a case of investigation and research could mean development, a progression, a positive path to conclusions. Dynamism is key to better understanding of a subject at hand, unpredictability and instability with chemical research would show different stages of growth or decline, nonetheless a stage. Ideas, discoveries, invention and knowledge are all evidence of human advancement. For the truly scientific mind my friend, these are all glorious things; the positive results of change, as if everything would change for the better." He blew and made a ring shaped cloud of smoke that lingered for a moment then it vanished just as he had enough time to look at it with awe. "Skill is also a factor of change."

He tried it again but to no avail.

"On the other hand, there is Order. Chaos, the antonym of order, is intimately synonymous with change. Even the most astute scientific minds hunger for order, but sadly is no more enduring than that of the perfectly ring shaped cloud on a cold train ride. Fleeting, devastatingly fleeting. Imagine where you would live in a world where everything changes at the second, now imagine that you are a mathematics professor and this is so. Would you not loose your mind? You would. A change in an algorithm would throw the entire equation out of whack." He took another lengthy drag.

"Now we have the alphabet, what if some new knowledge bloke decides to interfere with the centuries old order of the alphabeta and institute that we shall all now recite it from Z to A, or he decides to change the order of certain characters. That would be very baffling for librarians to work with and yet the possibilities of such events cannot be predicted and will have to be anticipated; don't you see my dear doctor?"

He had been waving his hands around during his deep lecture but still Watson was lost. "I don't believe I do Holmes." He laughed a bit.

"Of course you don't." he chucked the cigar butt outside the window. "Even I have the difficulty to, I who once believed that the anomalies that fascinate me would simply remain fascinators, I who once believed that cases will be the only things that constitute me, I who once believed that my doctor friend would always remain the chronographer that tailed me around... Just when you thought that everything was perfectly the way you had them, change comes…"

Watson looked up at his friend and met his eyes. Holmes always liked the way things were, his room, his life, his method of solving cases, his Gladstone experimentations. He liked it just the way things are as he made them and they always stayed that way for him. He got very upset when Mrs. Hudson once moved one of his convex lenses from the mantelpiece to the table, he never let any one touch anything unless he says so.

Even he Watson had danced to the tempo of Holmes' erratic life. But not anymore, not after he had met Mary and had Lizzie. Watson finally digested the subject of Holmes' earlier lecture: he had become an anomaly to Holmes, he had changed.

Holmes met his worried look with a simple smile, not malicious but warm and forgiving. "I blame myself Watson; I've influenced you too much."

Watson laughed at this, finally Holmes warmed up a bit. "That doesn't matter; you've been far too great a friend for me to mind your influence, good or not."

"True, true… Although you have become too smart for your own good, I actually worry you'd do drastic things in light of me."His tone had become proud again, Watson didn't care much, he was glad Holmes shared what he actually felt.

"I still am John Watson, Holmes, and I still am your chronographer." He smiled at his friend.

"Yes, yes you are… And although I shall always have a certain dislike for your wife as I have for sedatives in my morning tea, I have accepted the change that marriage and fatherhood has bestowed on you."

Watson cringed inwardly at the mention of this morning's incident, but it was unavoidable. "So does this mean you're no longer upset about breakfast?"

"My dear Watson, that was a petty happening and you have explained your reasons, therefore I see no point in being upset about it." Holmes clasped his hand on Watson's shoulder across the table, he smiled.

"Glad you do old chap, glad you do."

* * *

><p>A few moments in contented silence passed between them and while Watson scribbled notes into his notebook, Holmes smoked and fiddled with the cigar case.<p>

"Hmmm… I must say, this is a curiously exquisite case! Hamill and Sons Co., a very fine silversmith! Jewelry and silver trinkets are their specialty." He traced a finger along the velvet laden rim. "I'd say this here itself costs fifty guineas, a wedding gift perhaps from your med school chap Philip Crowe?"

Watson was glad they were back to conversation again, even if Holmes had to cut short his own deductive habits just to make small talk. "Yes, from Crowe, he owed me an amount but he compensated with this cigar case which is double of what he borrowed from me. I wouldn't have minded though since he was a great friend back in the days, money was never a problem between us."

"And the Indian lunkah cigars? I doubt these are from him too, other than the fact that they are imported and relatively expensive, they are quite new."

"No, that one is from Dr. Jeremiah Dean, he just came home all the way from India. He's mightily rich and he's given me a box of these exquisite flavors, and I plan on keeping most of them for special occasions." Watson beamed.

"Hmmm…" Holmes nodded his agreement; there were still six cigars inside the case. He handed it out to Watson. "Care for one? I've had two; it is such a waste to leave these to spoil in the cold air."

"No thank you. Mary wouldn't want me to smoke when Lizzie is around."

"Very well then, suit yourself mother hen."

Holmes snapped the case shut and chucked it out the train window.

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><p><strong>AN: BOOM! haha. sorry this took long guys! I had a lot going on at home. I was actually inspired to write this part (it wasn't supposedly included) when my mommy dearest threw my laptop out the door because my grades are bed rock level (Holmes would be disappointed).**

**Luckily it landed on a laundry basket. -_-**

**Never NEVER piss off your menopausal mother. GODDAMET. **

**I know this is a bit short than usual. Don't worry! I've made two chapters! but before you click next chapter.**

**CLICK THE BUTTON BELOW ^_^**

**-Jacques Sparreaux**


	7. Holmes Sweet Home

**Holmes Sweet Home**

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><p>"Holmes, come out! It's been two days and you have not had a breath of outside air, please come down already!" Watson yelled from the bottom of the stairwell, Holmes ignored him and buried his nose into a file be had brought along. Upon their arrival in the Holmes ancestral mansion, great consulting detective Sherlock Holmes locked himself in a tower, literally. Still piqued about what Watson had done to him, Holmes did not come down his old tower room.<p>

That is when no one was looking.

The western tower had always been Holmes own lair since childhood, it was perfectly located above his room which was also conveniently located above the family's library. Everyone thought that the tower was simply an accessory to the architecture of the mansion; even his father didn't find any important use to it.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the household their Sherlock, at nine years of age, had engineered a secret stairwell above his closet leading up to the tower. A pile of wooden boxes stood as an inconspicuous ladder to reach the trap door in the ceiling opening to the short spiral stairwell. In the next few months after furnishing his new quarters with an entrance and transferring his precious possessions, he also thought up of another passage that led down to the library also originating from his closet. With that, his father would never catch him taking out the bigger and more complicated books. He could easily take them and return them afterwards. By the time he was twelve, he had constructed a channel of secret passageways leading to the kitchen and the pantry, the cellar, the drawing room and an underground tunnel opening to the stables and many more.

The kitchen passage is what he used these past two days to supply himself of food, the stable tunnel he used yesterday to visit the nearby town to buy a few things and send a telegram to Mrs. Hudson saying to mail him a list of certain items he had left because of getting knocked out, and also not to touch anything that was not on the list. What Watson said of him not being outside wasn't entirely true. No one else knew about these mole holes but one; obviously Mycroft has told Watson about it.

_Blasted Brother_

The doctor appeared at the trap door looking huffed; a cobweb caught on his ear. Holmes sitting on his old scratched winged chair, simply looked at him with a furrowed brow, turned away and pulled his knees to his chest and stuck his nose back to his file

"I agree that your detachment from human civilization prove to be very productive when you where younger."

Watson looked around with awe, the place was lit by a solitary arched window and a fire place big enough for a teapot to his left; obviously installed by Holmes himself. The detective's chair that sat the middle of the circular room, about three meters in radius, was perfectly placed that everything around him was of equal distance; a book shelf that lined half the room served as a table for his apparatuses and experiments, the other half had a wall hanging but it was barely recognizable under all the newspaper clippings, articles, pictures, some connected by web dioramas, some with huge scribbles and notes around them, books and instruments were strewn over the floor in the same fashion that was in Baker Street that there seemed to be no difference at all. Holmes had been very active even in his youth.

"Fatherhood has taken quite a toll on you dear doctor, you've lost weight." He said nonchalantly.

"Don't be ridiculous, it's just been two days since we've seen each other Holmes." The doctor replied wearily.

"Exactly my point." He answered, Watson just shook his head.

"Well you look as if you've been well fed these past two days." He chided.

"You're not supposed to be here Watson, this tower is haunted." Holmes murmured into his file.

"Very funny. I know it was you who started these ghost stories with your tunnels, hiding things and making them appear in another place, the creaking sounds and the wailing and sobbing at night. Mycroft told me you did these to scare away potential buyers of the mansion when your father died, and I know you've been smuggling pudding up in here." Watson placed his hands on his hips. "I know you've been sneaking out Holmes, now please come down properly and get dressed."

"For what and why should I? Risk myself of frostbite in this merciless weather? I'd rather stay here and be a specter." he turned a page.

Watson caught the title of what he was reading and got annoyed. He snatched away the file of Irene Adler, in an instant effort to get it back Holmes twisted in his seat and fell in a heap on the twenty year old dust on the floor.

"I thought I told you to drop this nonsense!" Watson flipped through the file.

"I thought we have agreed on a wager!" Holmes crawled to Watson's feet and reached for the dossier.

"As I recall I did no such agreeing." he raised it above his head.

"Hah! But you did- oh… you didn't." he got up on his feet, his face sullen.

"I will keep this," Watson folded the thick folder into his jacket. "And I won't return it until I see you fit to hold it again. Now I want you washed and dressed, I expect you to be downstairs in the drawing room in ten minutes." He instructed like a father and made his way down.

Before his head disappeared under the trap door Holmes asked, "Why? Where do you plan in abducting me to next?"

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><p>Even though the church was crammed with village people (a lot were left standing because the pews were filled) Holmes still shivered in his seat. He was sandwiched between Mycroft and Watson in their pew, both who did not seem to be affected at the least, maybe because they were so engrossed with the parson's sermon about loving, giving and the spirit of Christmas.<p>

_Lord taketh thy unworthy soul awayeth. _But even he was too fond of himself to take what he thought seriously.

He amused himself by his habitual observation of people, when that became boring he borrowed Mary's book of psalms, tore off small pieces and balled them into pellets which he flicked to unsuspecting people. Mycroft nudged him, and he stopped, only to bite back a smirk when his brother pointed his lips to a man with a shiny bald spot three pews in front of them.

Five minutes and a few disintegrated pages later, the siblings were silently contesting on who could hit who the farthest, with Caruthers, Mycroft's valet, tearing pellets off his own psalm book for his master and keeping the score.

"What are you two _doing?" _Watson snarled with vehemence.

The two stopped in mid toss and sat up innocently; Holmes pointed at his brother.

"Is that Mary's book?" He said loudly in surprise and gained a shushing from an old lady; he apologized and turned to Holmes. "That was a gift from me!" he snatched away his wife's mutilated psalm book from Sherlock and gave Mycroft a disappointed frown, the Holmes brothers behaved.

When they stood to sing a song of praise Watson sat between the two, something Mary did not approve of, and gave Holmes an 'I'm watching you' gesture. After that it was back to doing nothing so Holmes resolved to cleaning his fingernails and flicking the grime at Watson's shoes.

It was his fifth fingernail when he was suddenly aware of the air around him. He raised his nose and caught the assorted scents and odors of village folk: the usual tobacco, candied apples, hay, and horse dung, after shave, musk, and liquor. There was something else though, something very foreign to a northern town. He closed his eyes and registered the faint scent.

Parisian Perfume

He swerved in his seat with his nose following the trail, it came from behind and it was quickly fading away, no wait, it was _leaving_.

The parson had concluded a prayer and requested everyone to kneel, but Holmes got on his feet and started jerking his nose around gaining surprised looks from the people around him.

"What are you doing? Get down Holmes!" Watson yanked his leg down but Holmes didn't budge.

The parson cut short his homily, "Is there something wrong my son?"

Holmes spun on his spot still sniffing, "Son? Oh, oh right." He walked his way over his seat mates' legs. "Nothing's wrong father dear. Carry on with the idolatry."

A collective horrified gasp emitted from everyone else, Mycroft shook his head with a chuckle and Watson buried his face in his hands. Holmes obliviously made his way through the standing people, hot on the trail of perfume, and out into the snowy night of Christmas Eve.

He ran until he reached the gate, the scent was lost now. Snow flakes landed gently on his keen face, his wide eyes searching the perimeter for any sign of the perfume owner, any flash of a fuchsia gown or ostentatious carriage or the twinkle of jewelry or the soft mischievous giggle of Irene Adler. The church garden was warmly illuminated by the light from inside and by a few lamp posts; there was nothing particularly singular in sight, save for the overlapping foot prints in the snow and the numerous trails of carriage wheels. Nothing at all.

Back in his tower Holmes pondered about the scent. He felt a chase coming on; this was just a start, a teaser. But somehow he also doubted the possibilities; he was up in the north while he had knowledge of the Worcestershire lands and estate being near Portsmouth in the south. Barrington could easily acquire lands anywhere and Irene could be in any of those.

He wondered if his mind had invented the scent solely because he was pining for this plausible case and he was slowly falling into delirium. His credibility would be challenged, even Watson already thought so, and there was only one way to salvage his dignity.

He needed to prove this case existed.

That would have to wait for a while though, tomorrow was Christmas day, and although he was not a holiday aficionado, his freshly wrapped present would be for naught if he didn't give them away. But before that there was something else he needed to do. Sherlock Holmes got up from his chair and took his newly bought razor from the shelf table.

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><p>Mary wasn't beside him when he woke up that cold morning; she obviously busied herself in preparing Christmas Dinner. Watson chuckled to himself on his wife's meticulousness. Elizabeth was still in bed in the adjoining room when he checked. He had waited for her to go to sleep that night before placing her present under the tree; an exquisite porcelain doll he ordered from France. Watson made his way to the wash room and what greeted him in the mirror made his blood turn cold.<p>

"_HOLMES!"_

He found the culprit lounging with a mug of eggnog in the sitting room. Holmes was sucking on a candy cane that once hung on the Christmas tree. Watson took it and replaced it on a branch.

"Does your _depravity _know _no_ bounds?" he fumed with hands on hips; he kept it there so they won't find their way to his companion's neck.

"Happy Christmas to you too, Watson!" he took a gulp of eggnog. "Would you like one? Stanley can bring it up for you. Oh Staaanleeeey-"

Watson slammed his hands down on either side of Holmes' armchair, his clean shaven face seething and dangerously close to Holmes'. "I don't want eggnog. I want an _explanation!" _ He pointed to his upper lip.

"What? _What_? There's nothing there to explain about!"

"_EXACTLY_! There's nothing there! What happened to my mustache?"

"Well really Watson! I don't know, you are the one pruning it and such a ridiculous question-"

"_What happened to my mustache?"_

"What happened to my dossier?" Holmes retorted with a straight face.

Watson let out a yell of fury and found himself strangling the detective with his bare hands. Holmes yelped in gurgling sounds and kicked at Watson.

"Now, now children, if you continue to brawl I shall have your presents incinerated." Mycroft stood by the door, Watson let go of the detective and straightened himself up. "I must say Johnny, you look younger! Do tell, what's your secret?" Mycroft took note of the doctor's clean shaven face and the two Holmes grinned at each other like devils.

A lovely looking Mary bustled into the room looking quite shaken. "What's going on? Who was yelling? John are you alri- Oh my!" she covered her mouth in surprise. "Why John dear, you look… you look _clean." _She stifled a giggle; Watson rolled his eyes.

"Please, don't laugh, it's his doing." He pointed an accusing finger at Holmes who slapped it away.

"Well I think you look lovely." She gave him a kiss on his smooth cheek, "Happy Christmas Mr. Watson." He calmed down and smiled at her, although he still couldn't believe his friend's impetuousness.

When Elizabeth came down, everybody gathered around the tree to open their presents. She squealed with glee when she opened the gorgeous porcelain doll her parents gave her.

"Hmmm… Another doll, isn't that the seventh porcelain plaything you've given her?" Holmes said.

"Well I love my daughter and I'll do whatever to give her the best of her wants and needs." Watson replied proudly.

Holmes merely gulped down his eggnog. "A young doctor once wrote that people, as they grow into adults, have character and preferences that are products of their early childhood. The choice of profession may stem from a particular hobby or object they often had around them growing up, in a child's case: toys. Now dolls are very beautiful objects, but they don't seem to embed anything into the child but beauty."

He gently lifted the doll from Lizzie's arms to which she protested. "The child, fixated with the concept of physical beauty, thus grows vainglorious and conceited." He handed her instead a small box from his jacket wrapped in silk ribbons. "Whereas you raise her with the influence of the arts," Lizzie got rid of the wrapper and ogled hungrily at the intricate Faberge music box in her hands; she opened it and the plinking notes of the Fleur Elis emanated into the room. She shut it and opened it then shut it and opened it again, and giggled at each time the notes played."She develops into a well rounded, intelligent and artistic woman."

Lizzie gave Holmes a sweet kiss of thanks on his scruffy face.

Watson just sat there with surprise and was even more surprised when Holmes said "Ah but wait, there's another one."

From behind his chair he lifted a bigger box and laughed at the twinkle of interest in Lizzie's eyes. She tore it open and the whole room broke out in oohs and aahs; it was a miniature pianoforte small enough to fit in an average suit case. Lizzie hit the keys one by one; it made music like that of the music box.

Mary looked at Holmes admiringly and uttered sweet thanks while Watson smiled with a bit of shame yet admiration for his friend. "I guess that does deserve a thank you and an apology Holmes."

"Oh you don't have to thank me or apologize, Watson."

"Really?"

"Yes, just give me back my file." He said with a smirk.

The rest of the gift giving ritual went on with good spirits. Mary received two new beautiful pieces from the boys; a pearl rosary from Watson, a turtle shell comb from Holmes, and Mycroft gave her a book on Horticulture. Watson got new cufflinks from his wife; their intertwined initials in gold, while to his chagrin Holmes got him what looked like a pocket tool kit but actually a facial grooming set, complete with miniature comb, razor, tweezers and scissors, he got a new stethoscope from Mycroft.

For Holmes it was quite a surprise that they even got him a present: from the Watsons it was a gold pocket watch, and from Mycroft, well, Mycroft said he got him a horse, he couldn't possibly bring it in was his reason.

When they transferred to the dining hall for breakfast, Watson sat beside Holmes. "If I may be so bold to ask, where did you get the money to buy all these?"

"Don't you know that is it rude to ask about one's financial assets?" Holmes sipped his tea, it wasn't poisoned this time. "But to satisfy your curiosity: from myself of course."

"But Holmes, only last month you borrowed money from me for your rent since you have not had… well… you haven't had any salary." He was puzzled.

"We have a fortune." Mycroft interjected. "A hundred pounds each, annually." He said in between bacon rolls.

Watson glared at Holmes who glared at the other Holmes.

"Father left in his will that each year we can only have a small sum from the fortune ensuring we would not extinguish it right away and succumb to poverty, old man never said he was rolling in money. My younger brother here is _quite_ frugal when it comes to spending though."

Watson's left eye was twitching.

"Well I think that's the end of it, I'll be up in my tower." Holmes got up hastily.

"Will you be awaiting a prince?" Mycroft chided. "It would go well with your new horse."

"You," He pointed at his older brother, "don't get to be funny. You didn't give me anything." Mycroft simply chuckled.

Watson made to stand up too, but when he patted himself down he felt something heavy in his front pocket. Upon inspection he saw it was a new silver cigar case filled with Indian lunkah cigars.

Delicately engraved on the case was a picture of a hen with her chicks, and below that was J.H. Watson in curly cursive. Holmes must've slipped it in during their earlier scuffle. He caught the detective's eye, and just nodded to his friend, lost for words.

"Happy Christmas Watson." Holmes smiled.

"Happy Christmas old cock."

As everyone gradually got full, Caruthers sauntered into the room and handed an envelope to his master. Watson saw that is was periwinkle blue in color with a gold crest.

"Ah…" Mycroft murmured upon reading the letter. "Gentlemen, Madame in two days time I shall be attending a masquerade ball in the neighboring Meldowney Estate, it would be a pleasure if you would accompany me. My dear neighbor has returned home. I do quite miss his seasonal gatherings; he has made himself very rare lately." Mycroft made to leave with Caruthers.

"I assume you and Mr. Meldowney must be close acquaintances then, dear brother?" Holmes called out. Watson saw he had gone rigid but seemed to shake with excitement on his seat.

Mycroft turned before leaving the room, "Oh no, you misunderstood; Meldowney is just the title of the estate, it belongs to the Barringtons."

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><p><strong>AN: and again- BOOOM!**

**-comic con interview 2009-**

**reporter: How was it working with Jude Law's mustache?**

**RDJ: that is the question we've all been waiting for. Thank you so much for asking that. There was one time in the hotel before the dinner, he came down clean shaven and _ strangely_ unrecognizable as himself!**

**-LOL-**

**I had so much fun writing this chapter. I just wanted a chapter showing Mycroft and how I envisioned Holmes' childhood. Do you think they're a bit out of character? Well I guess so, I wanted to show the lighter side of the Holmes brothers.**

**Btw. For those who don't know, a pianoforte is like a grand piano only it's rectangular in shape and I _think_ it plays higher notes. Don't really know if a miniature one the size of a suit case was possible but I guess it makes a really awesome gift! XD**

**So did anyone of you liked Old Cock's gift to Mother Hen? :)  
>So bromance! this is why my boyriend won't read my fic. XD<strong>

**-Jacques Sparreaux**


	8. Meldowney Madness

**A/N: you better not have anything else to do, long chapter up ahead.**

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><p><strong>Meldowney Madness<strong>

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><p>"For the twenty-third time Holmes, stop looking at me like that!" Watson exclaimed.<p>

When Mycroft Holmes said that Meldowney Estate was a neighboring land to theirs, the rest of the group did not expect it to be six miles away and right across town. The four of them, dressed in their best, were off to the Masquerade Ball leaving Lizzie at home with the cook and Stanley the butler. The carriage rattled on the country dirt road on their way to Meldowney. Even though the winter sun was just fading behind the hills, it lit the smug smirk Holmes wore on his face, his beady black eyes twinkled maliciously at Watson behind his mask.

"I can't help myself Watson, when one's ears are greeted with good news does he not feel the need to rejoice?" he sat beside his brother across Watson and Mary.

"I find it more like gloating rather than rejoicing Holmes, and take off that mask we aren't there yet." Watson said exasperatedly.

"Come now John, what would Mr. Holmes be gloating about? I'm sure he's just happy he'll see his friend Ms. Amour once again." Mary told her husband.

"Oh yes, _delighted _in fact!" Holmes answered with wide eyes, "She's right Johnny dear, why would I gloat when I simply miss a female friend?"

"Now, now Sherley. You have a female friend?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes he does; the French actress Elizabeth Amour, she's hired him in Paris once and again as a body guard in The Victoria Theatre." Mary narrated naively.

Mycroft took in what she said and turned to his brother, "So you've met _the_ Elizabeth Amour?"

He worded the sentence so sharply that his eyes twinkled and Holmes immediately caught on: Mycroft knew about Irene. So swift was Mycroft's mind that Holmes wondered if there was something else his brother immediately deduced that he did not.

"Yes, we have." He gave him a wry smile. All three men knew about Irene's shady past and were careful enough to hide it from Mary and from anyone else. But tonight's event would prove unpredictable even for Sherlock Holmes.

"But how do you know she'd be here tonight?" Mycroft liked to say pointless things sometimes.

"Oh, I'm sure she will be, right Johnny?"

Watson scoffed, "whatever Holmes."

"We have just entered Meldowney grounds ma'am and sirs." Caruthers spoke through the tiny window from the driver's seat, "to my right you can see Heather Village," from a distance Holmes saw tiny pin pricks of light from many windows, and a steeple of a chapel. "It is a hamlet within the estate and most of its residents work under Lord Barrington, we won't be passing it though, it runs by a different road. There is also a hospice convent run by nuns but it is on the other side of the land."

A few minutes later Holmes noticed they are passing through a relatively smoother road, he looked out the carriage window just in time they passed a huge iron gate and this time the road was well lit by flaming torches. Up ahead sitting on a hill in all its glory was Irene Adler's soon to be palace.

"We're here." Holmes flashed Watson another gloating smirk.

The partly was in full swing when they arrived and they were promptly escorted to the ball room. Mycroft seemed to have sufficient familiarity with the place that even with a mask on, most people recognized him; the servants smiled at him casually and even pointed out where he could find Lord Barrington.

They found him talking to a group of old ladies; Holmes didn't see any sign of Irene though. Mycroft tapped the huge man on the shoulder and was greeted by an equally huge hug.

"Holmes! Oh good friend! It has been a while since I've seen you!" Barrington held the older Holmes at arms length. "By Jove, you have not changed a bit." He smiled.

"Ah, but you've changed quite a lot Bobby, France has done well for your aching leg I see." The two gentlemen laughed, Barrington's eyes sparkled when over his friend's shoulder he saw the familiar trio.

"Wait, I know you…"

Holmes promptly raised his mask;

Barrington looked at Mycroft then at Sherlock. "Mycroft Holmes… Sherlock _Holmes! _Aha! Mykie you never told me you had a brother, and it happens to be consulting detective Holmes!" The Lord looked very surprised.

"It's a pleasure to meet you again sir." Holmes shook the huge hand and felt relieved that Barrington seemed to have forgotten what happened the first time they met. He looked around but there was still no Adler.

"But I guess by the amazing intellect you two both have it is no longer a surprise you are brothers. And the Watsons are here to boot! Magnificent night! Magnificent!"

Barrington greeted the couple. Holmes had no interest in Barrington as of the moment; he was interested in his incognito fiancée, so he excused himself and wandered off. It frustrated him that he couldn't find her, he could not smell her perfume even on Barrington which would mean she hadn't come down to the party yet or she never was here in the first place.

Holmes was drinking champagne by the cocktail when a young man stumbled past him and tripped, causing him to spill his champagne on the poor boy's shoulder. He had a nice head of hair; blonde of a similar shade to that of Mary's.

"My apologies sir, wasn't looking where I was going." The boy brushed himself off and dabbed a napkin on his wet shoulder.

When he stood up Holmes saw intelligent deep set brown eyes behind the obligatory party mask, he was slightly browned with a few freckles, thin and lanky but nonetheless a handsome young man. He estimated his age to be eighteen and noted the faint odor of iodoform, excrement and a few strands of hay caught in the boy's hair and lapel. Something else made him interested in the boy though, he had a trace of Parisian perfume about him.

"No, forgive me young master Barrington; I wasn't looking where I was standing." Holmes gave him a warm smile and shook his hand; they had long and delicate fingers which were rough and work-worn, he noted a few bite marks on the hand.

"You- you know me?" the boy said.

"Recognized you more like it."

"You must be the first one to say that, at least every other person I've met had the difficulty believing I am a Barrington. Have we met before?"

"I've only met your father. You have the same eyes as his, which could make you brothers but that can't be right; Lord Barrington only had a twin where as you," He enjoyed the look of mounting surprise in the boy's face. "Have your mother's hair, which would make you his son."

The boy laughed in amazement. "Magnificent, truly magnificent. Alarmingly witty! I must say, it is a pleasure to be scrutinized by the famous Sherlock Holmes!"

It was his turn to be surprised. "You recognize me as well?"

"Who wouldn't? You are the only person known to deduce a person's past and identity in a second even before introduction, and also by the way, you and your brother Lord Mycroft both have that notable fine nose except his is broken in two places."

Holmes chewed his tongue, this boy proved interesting. "Right, riding accident in early adulthood, and we had a little disagreement. Hmmm… let me see, ah! You have the silver beetle pin on your cravat; a Camford University undergraduate."

"Yes sir!" he beamed proudly, "and I must say it is an honor to meet an alumnus such as you. I have to be honest; I am guilty of reading the compositions of Dr. Watson myself, although forgive me but he at times lost the practical science of the exploits by tainting it with occasional romanticism."

He likes this boy.

They walked around and talked a bit longer mostly about Holmes' past cases, Alfred Barrington was a very intelligent young man and shared many opinions similar to his that Holmes found himself agreeing that this boy could take on Watson anytime. They came to one of the many sitting rooms occupied by lounging ladies; the boy wanted to introduce Holmes to his aunt and cousins, he didn't protest just as long as he had a trail of Irene.

Alfred tapped a thick set woman on the shoulder, when she turned to face them she took off her peacock mask and Holmes thought she looked like half eagle half slug, her fat neck folding over her numerous jewels. Her flaming red hair adorned with peacock feathers matching her deep green gown.

_Scratch that, half peacock half slug._

"Aunt Tully, I would like to introduce to you a friend of father's and mine; Mr. Sherlock Holmes." She looked at Holmes up and down. "Mr. Holmes, this is Lady Myrtle Darren Barrington, widow of my late uncle Henry."

Holmes grudgingly took her fat gloved hand and pressed it to his lips. "It is a pleasure to meet you Madame." The woman simply hummed her greeting and took away her hand; she turned to Alfred and said.

"Is Mr. Holmes here a bachelor?"

Holmes felt his insides squirm; he'll go through hell and back twice before marrying this pea-slug specie.

He was relieved when she said, "Mr. Holmes, I would like you to meet my daughters." She stepped aside and from behind her he saw sitting on the couch where two of the loveliest young ladies he had seen tonight. Maybe it was just one and he was seeing double? They were remarkably the same in every aspect; features and clothing, except for the shade of dress they wore; the one on the left wore a lighter shade of purple. They had the same hair as their mother and they looked only two years younger than Alfred, no way was any Lady to force him to marry her young daughters.

It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt out if they where adopted.

"Lavender Barrington, please call me Lola." The girl on the left piped. "Violet Barrington, please call me Lottie." The one on the right quipped.

"It's lovely to meet you sir!" They sang out simultaneously and stuck out both their right hands together. Holmes didn't know which hand to greet first so he pressed them to his lips together. They didn't wear party masks meaning their mother intended to show them off.

"Equally lovely to meet you, Mesdemoiselles. Twins, just like their father was! Genetic miracles; how funny of nature to even bother with twice the trouble, but luckily very beautiful ladies." He showered them with pleasantries and they fluttered their eye lids at him.

"Actually, it's treble the trouble." A third similar voice said from behind, a third sister garbed in the same dress but in an even lighter color appeared; she uttered a small apology, kissed her mother on the cheek and stood in file with her sisters. She was the only one wearing a mask and it sat skewed on her face.

"You must be Miss Purple Barrington then."

The girl smiled, "Sorry but no."

"Magenta?"

"That's a shade of red."

"Aubergine?" he was running out of colors.

"Wisteria Barrington, pleasure to meet you." She held out her hand to him. "We were named after the flowers with the colors sir, please call me Terry."

"It is very clever of your parents to come up with such floral names. Now I know your mother wouldn't mind, would you like to dance with me?" Holmes looked at Lady Myrtle who nodded her agreement. Holmes did things for reasons, and dancing with a pretty young lady had its own; she had a stronger trace of Irene's perfume on her.

"Tell me Ms. Terry, what it is like, to be the odd one out?" he initiated a conversation.

"Excuse me? I don't think I follow." Was her answer.

"What is it like to be the only fraternal sister among you three?"

She missed a step in her surprise. "How did you know? We all look exactly alike; mother does her best to make us so. I admit she will be quite displeased that you've seen right through it. Come on, tell me Mr. Holmes." She smiled at him appealingly.

"For starters, your sisters are very alike in form and habit that they seem to treat each other as their own looking glass. You on the other hand have far more discerning qualities that make you an individual among them."

"Like what?"

"Your hands are rough meaning you preoccupy with productive hobbies. You lock yourself up in the eastern drawing room every morning, painting; linseed oil on your right hand has a very strong odor that doesn't easily come off no matter how many washes. You spend your afternoons outside with your cousin Alfred, riding out and assisting him in his veterinary duties."

"Ooh, how did you know that?" she was delighted in each of his revelations.

"It is simplicity itself. You have far more freckles than your sisters, you bask in the sun more, and I must say horse dung is a strong odor that clings to one even after washing. Alfred had a whiff of iodoform on him earlier. You also have hay caught in your hair."

She flicked it away. "Well done Mr. Holmes, but those still don't prove I am an odd sister. You've only stated my habits, I could've had different preferences from them since birth, and it happens even to twins, does it not?" she smiled at him smugly.

"Your voice is of a lower register than your sisters'; it is not shrill to the ears like theirs. Your eyes, like your sisters, are of the rare deep blue color often mistaken for violet. You like to read late into the night affecting your vision, you squint occasionally because unused to the light. You have small fleshy dents on either side of you nose bridge, where your prescription glasses should sit-"

"Still habitual Mr. Holmes."

"-_and_ also the violet colored glass lenses are hurting your eyes."

She was silent for a moment then laughed. "Oh, mother will hate you for this!" she stopped for a moment and in the middle of the dance floor she slipped off the cumbersome glass lenses from her eyeballs, she threw them on the floor and stepped on them. "My eyes feel lighter, I hate wearing lenses."

"Ah… Blue on the left and green on the right, Heterochromia, another wonderful rarity you posses. If that does not prove my point then maybe your ambidexterity will."

"Now I wonder how you knew that." She seemed no longer surprised.

"Although you paint with your right, your left hand shows regular activity as well. The skin on the middle finger and thumb are coarse and calloused indicating where you hold your pen, and judging by their prominence I say you must be writing a novel." He smirked at her. "Such mental capacity and coordination skill would simply imply that you have a far more advanced mind that that of your sisters who, in all honesty, are two of the shallowest beauties I've met."

Wisteria Barrington and Sherlock Holmes laughed while they danced. He was actually enjoying himself that he almost forgot to look for his target. That was when over Terry's shoulder, he saw a group of men, young and old, crowding around something across the room. When one of the younger men walked away from the group looking disheartened he saw through the gap, sitting on her throne-like chair bheind a lace mask, was the lovely but bored face of Irene Adler.

_Jackpot._

Holmes hastily excused himself from Terry after the dance and made his way across the room. As he stood outside the circle of crowding Elizabeth Amour admirers, he caught her eye and in an instant the bored look on her face was gone. He saw her contemplate the situation; he can't possibly get through the throng of men without getting into an argument, most of them had been 'waiting in line' for her to dance with them.

Then he saw Irene's face change from thoughtful to nervous. She placed one hand on her chest, fanned herself with the other and took deep breaths. The men around her quickly took notice and asked her what was wrong. "You there," she pointed to a man near to her, he approached her almost nervously, she snatched his handkerchief from his front pocket and dabbed away imaginary sweat from her face. Irene rolled her eyes into the sockets, and with a hoarse voice she whimpered. "Medicine, my medicine, it's in the pantry… Oh please, won't somebody get if for me…" She swooned in her seat, and in an instant the men dispersed like a flock of birds in a fire, each in search of the pantry, leaving Holmes alone in his spot.

He came towards her. "You have a way with men, Ms. Amour."

She crossed her legs and lounged back casually in her chair, "What can I say? Experience is an advantageous thing and I've had _years_ of it." Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

He pressed her hand to his lips. "Worth, Charles Frederick Worth."

"Oh? The last time we met I thought you're name was Sherlock Holmes." She replied coyly.

"Your dress, Ms. Amour is distinctively modern that you stand out like a sore thumb." He noted the crisp white ball gown traced with stark black swirly patterns obviously made by the French couture house. "Another gift from your dearest I suppose."

Irene smiled at him, "It's still a secret Sherlock, keep your mouth shut. Now won't you ask me to dance with you?"

"Avec plaisir mademoiselle Amour."

They stood in the middle of the dance floor and swayed to a slow waltz.

His mind was blank. He had her in his hands now, literally, but he didn't know what step to take next. The past week he had been obsessing about following her and foiling her apparent plans but when he set his mind back to right now, with her gently pressed against his body and purring into his neck, there was nothing else he could think of doing.

He hung his face near her hair and gently inhaled. He was right, she was there in the church that Christmas Eve, maybe she saw him then left, but it could only be her, since there was no one else who smells exactly the same as Irene did.

"Sherlock…"

"What is it Irene?" he found himself murmuring gently into her ear .

"Have you been to Spain at least once?"

He didn't expect that question, "Yes I have. Why do you ask?"

"Have you experienced their culture?"

"I- I have not given it much though, why are you-"

"Because the waltz is boring me and I was wondering if you know how to dance the flamenco."

"The _what?_ Irene wait-!"

Before he could register what she said, she left him in the middle of the room and stalked off to where the band sat.

They stopped playing when she approached, and the dance took to a stand still. Irene gave a few words and the musicians talked it over with themselves, and then they nodded to her. Two cellists set down their instruments and each took out a Spanish guitar. Irene also had a word with a butler and had the rest of the lights dimmed except the chandelier above the dance floor; she then went back to Holmes' side.

"What are you doing?" he demanded in a whisper.

"_We_," she patted his chest and slid his jacket off his shoulders, "are going to dance. You know how to dance, don't you detective? I saw you enjoying the quadrille with sweet Terry just a while ago." He saw her pupils narrow. "Now go off to the other end of the dance floor and we shall make the _Entrada." _

Holmes tossed his jacket on a nearby chair and took his place as Irene took hers, the other dancers, seeing that this was a special number stood aside. It was years ago that he'd been to Spain, he did not have enough knowledge of their traditions but he had seen numerous operas where variations of the flamenco were performed. Holmes has a very expedient photographic memory, he wondered if for this number he had sufficient _choreographic_ memory. He knew how passionate these dances went, especially the flamenco duet.

Irene was on to something here, this was her revenge for him burning down the theatre and the mental ward joke; he certainly did not want to lose face.

Irene snapped her fingers once and the haunting strum of the Spanish guitar started.

The first part of the dance introduced the gentle woman and the strapping man. The lady always initiated the dance; Irene gracefully raised and curved her arms over her head while making small rhythmic tapping with her heels in time to the slowly rising tempo, Irene dance like a gypsy. She made a slow turn as she tapped, and after a full circle, she swiftly poised herself rigid, one arm arched over her head the other clutching her skirts, with her body arched she threw back her head to him over her shoulder.

It was his turn.

Holmes did his best. He flexed and imitated her first steps, only with bolder actions, masculine vigor and heavier taps. The tempo rose and Holmes found himself turning and stomping to the rhythm. He stomped his feet together to a halt, his chin high up, one hand on his back and the other extending out firmly towards Irene as if in invitation.

That concluded the Entrada.

When the guitars where joined by the swift grazing of violas, the two cadenced to the middle of the floor clapping to the rhythm. They encircled each other in slow and sure tapping steps. Not breaking eye contact and rhythm, Irene spoke.

"This is the part where we impersonate a bull fight,"

They turned away from each other in continuous dance.

"Where the man is a matador-"

"-and the woman is the bull." He finished for her.

They faced each other again.

"But that sounds wrong doesn't it? You are after all a female; hence you should be a cow."

Annoyance flashed across Irene's face and she stomped on his foot with her heel, not breaking pace at all. Holmes missed a step and failed to hide a wince; from where he stood he could see Watson laugh at him.

So he stomped on Irene as well.

But he missed, yet it all fell into beat that Irene smirked, and they exchanged a series of stomps near each other's feet before turning away to opposite sides.

Irene started 'roughing up' herself; clapping and twirling fast and occasionally kicking up her skirt with her knees like an enraged bull. The crowd applauded and she flashed them a winning smile.

Holmes was not to be upstaged, so he did what he did best: Improvise.

Tap-walking to the rhythm Holmes approached the audience and snatched away an Ostrich plume fan from a lady, he uttered a quick "I'll return it," turned back to his spot, got down on one knee and fluttered the fan in front of his face. A few men laughed in the audience.

_What are you doing? _Irene mouthed to him.

He replied with an assuring look and a 'come hither' gesture of his hand. Irene conceded and danced her way to him. She twirled and stomped and she swished her skirts around as she encircled him closer and closer. The tempo picked up to a sinister tune and she 'charged' at him from behind, he stood up just in time in a brisk pirouette. The hand with the fan outstretched, perfectly timed that it ghosted in front of Irene's face as she gracefully swerved past.

Just like the cape of a matador confusing the bull.

The audience roared in admiration, Holmes flashed his smirk at Irene. They encircled each other again, slowly this time to catch their breaths.

"Not bad Sherlock, you make a good matador."

"And you a good cow."

Her lip twitched at that. "We are enemies."

"Oh, I know that."

"No nitwit, the second dance. We portray enemies fighting."

"That will be very easy, do forgive me if I improvise." With that he threw his arms around her waist and tossed her over his shoulder. The crowd gasped, but Irene, with a wave of skirts, tumbled over his back and landed gracefully on her feet, this time she fluttered the ostrich fan in front of her face.

The second dance proved more strenuous and required speed and vigor. The story of the dance required more heated physical contact, just what Irene specialized in. There was more throwing of limbs at each other, more swishing of skirts, heavier stomping and even more turning. Holmes didn't feel tired, he felt engrossed; he hadn't had this much physical activity in a few months. There were times that he thought Irene intentionally let her blows and kicks land, surprisingly he didn't want to hit back; he just wanted to complete the dance.

When the music paced faster Holmes knew the second part was to end. Starting away from each other, they twirled to the middle with Holmes delivering the final blow from over head and Irene caught his wrist just in time. Applause broke out again.

The music slowed down to a mellow tempo, this was the last dance, the part Holmes dreaded.

From the last position they lowered their hands until their palms met. They encircled each other again, only this time it was slower and much closer, their noses a hairbreadth away.

"And now, we are lovers…"

When the music picked up Irene spun away from him and he wished she didn't. Somehow he found himself reminiscing the few nights he and Irene shared before, and it fueled his passion to dance, their faces almost never away from each other, Holmes felt himself dizzying in Irene's scent, but he couldn't pull away.

When the last few notes came, Irene swished her skirt one last time, turned, and fell back as Holmes caught her in his arms. his forehead resting on hers and the warm vapor of her breath seemingly calling to him.

The crowd applauded, but Holmes couldn't find the strength to pull away, he was panting slightly for breath. Irene didn't seem to move at all, he could here her heart furiously beating and her face was flushed with the exertion while sweat poured down his. Their eyes met, and for the longest time they forgot there were people around. When he realized the number was over, he felt a stone drop in his stomach and took a step away from Irene.

From the audience Lord Barrington approached them beaming and clapping his hands. He clasped Holmes's back and gave Irene a kiss on the cheek.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" he raised Holmes hand as if after a boxing match. He received a great deal of applause. "Who knew he could _baile!_ That was a wonderful show, wonderful indeed. Thank you for sharing with us your astounding talent Mr. Holmes." He gave the older man a smile and patted him on the back.

As Holmes walked towards the Watsons and his brother, Barrington turned to Irene. "And now ladies and gentlemen; this young lady here, you've all known her these past three years as the glamorous and beautiful Elizabeth Amour,"

There was a softer applause.

Holmes turned from where he stood, and felt foolish that for the first time that night he just noticed Irene didn't wear her choker from the theatre. He felt himself dreading what was to come next.

"Elizabeth Amour is merely her stage name," Barrington continued, the crowd listened fully now. "And since you are all gathered here this special night, I would like to have the honor now to introduce her to you as Irene Adler,"

The crowd went silent, and then came murmurs then applause. Irene beamed at the people.

"For the first, and the last time…"

She looked over at him with wide eyes, and gasped with the crowd when Lord Barrington got on one knee in front of Irene Adler, and held out a small velvet box for the entire room to see.

"Irene, my darling."

He opened the box and Holmes saw sure enough, the stone that once hung around Irene's neck, was now an engagement ring.

"Will you marry me?"

Irene clasped her hands to her lips, and a deafening silence followed.

Holmes didn't move from his spot, his eyes locked on her face, and then he heard the word weakly uttered between her fingers.

"..._yes..."_

Robert Barrington lifted his new bride-to-be and spun her around in his arms. The crowd rejoiced with them, and then the band played the wedding march in exaltation and everybody gathered around the happy couple in congratulations.

Holmes walked moodily over to where his companions sat and took a seat beside Watson who simply looked at him. Holmes returned his look.

"What?" Holmes said sullenly.

"What '_what'?" _the doctor replied.

"You're the one looking at me."

"Well you're the one who just danced the tango!"

"Flamenco…"

"Whatever."

Watson studied his friend's expressionless face, but in the years that he'd been with Holmes, he didn't need facial evidence to know how the other truly felt. Irene Adler just got officially engaged right in front of him after they've shared a passionate dance, and deny it all he want, Watson knows deep inside, Holmes was miserable.

He placed a compassionate hand on the detective's shoulder.

"Come on old chap, let's go home..."

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><p><strong>AN: sorry for that, I didn't want to cut the dance into another chapter since I guess it'll be a long time till I can update the 9th chapter. I'll be busy preparing clearance and papers and shizz since I'm about to transfer from my current business school into another school to take up Fine Arts. (yay!)  
><strong>**No I do not dance Flamenco, so if anyone sees any error with what I wrote, sorry, I only interpreted and copied the moves and story from videos I've seen. ehehehe**

**Btw, what do you guys think about Alfred and the triplets, especially Terry? :D**

**-Jacques Sparreaux**


	9. Old Habits Die Hard

**A/N: I am such a b*tch! So sorry for making you guys wait so long. (Special mention to Stardust, Faery, and Creed XD) then again I warned in last chapter it would be a while. hehehehe. Here it is. I have to tell you, since it's an 'apology chapter', it's long. XD**

**Then again you guys like reading so I see nothing wrong. :D ENJOY 3**

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><p><strong>Old Habits Die Hard<strong>

* * *

><p>Holmes lay on his back in the darkness of his room with feet propped on the bed while the rest of him sprawled on the floor. He didn't have a bed back in Baker Street for years now; he had forgotten how soft it was to have a bed as a foot stool. After he had set fire to the goose down mattress provided by Mrs. Hudson she didn't get him another one, so he resolved to sleep on the tiger rug.<p>

He had just consumed another pipe-full of his favorite vice, but this time he experimented on mixing the tobacco leaves and cocaine powder and smoking them together in the pipe. Oh the marvelous transcendental bliss it left him after only a dose. He lay like that for quite sometime not minding, not thinking and just stoning out…

Without knocking or any form of warning, Watson barged into the room.

His face was set and he stormed right past Holmes and straight into the closet. Holmes heard the hurried ascending footsteps above, silence, then descending. Watson exited the closet and spotted him on the floor, one hand on hip and the other to his now grown mustache, trying to hide embarrassment on his face.

"You- have you… were you-" he stuttered.

"Have I been just here the entire time?" He finished the other's sentence.

"Well, yes basically…"

"Pretty much…" he replied groggily not taking his eyes off the ceiling.

Watson sighed inwardly. His friend had been in this stupor for more than a week already, but the usual diagnosis for his boredom which is lack of a proper case was not the reason for his recent gloom, and he knew very well that it was Ms. Adler's engagement no matter how the detective would deny it.

Today was the 6th of January of the new year, and experience has learned Watson that despite Holmes' almost limitless stores of knowledge, he never took note of his own day, and that was why John Watson stood there hovering over Sherlock Holmes' head as he slipped off in his drug induced day dreams.

"Thirty-seven." Watson said.

"What?" Holmes replied nonplussed.

"You are thirty-seven years old as of today, and you're making a bad lot out of it."

"Is it today? I haven't noticed at all."

"You never do…"

"So if I am seven and thirty, then that makes you," he ticked numbers off his fingers, "five and forty!"

"Five and thirty, Holmes." He laughed it off; Holmes never seemed to like the idea that Watson was younger than him.

"Potato, potahto."

He walked over to Holmes' trunk and started fishing for a walking jacket. "Get dressed, _properly dressed,_ we're going out."

"You've set up a party? No wonder I had a feeling of impending doom."

"Don't flatter yourself; it's not for your birthday. Lord Barrington has invited us both to Meldowney by chance that some of his friends from the _Hijos Tropicano _are in town. He's heard of our exploits in the tropics and he would like it if we came by." He dug deeper in Holmes' trunk.

"The elite sons of the tropicsare here?" Holmes sat up on the floor.

"So it seems and we are invited to tea," he found a decent looking apparel, it had a hole just above the breast-pocket but it would do, "now get dressed and I shall wait for you downstairs, oh, and while we're there please, _please, _behave yourself."

"Lord Barrington awaits you in the Glass Room sirs; a couple of his companions in the _Hijos Tropicano_ have already arrived."

The butler led them from the grand foyer and down a wide brightly lit corridor flanked by white marble statues on both sides. The place looked different with winter sunlight streaming in from the large windows compared with the candle light of the Masquerade Ball.

"Chives, is it not?" Holmes said.

"Yes sir, that is my name, please feel free to call on me anytime for your needs while you are here in Meldowney and I shall be prepared to serve."

"Very good. Now tell me, it is the height of winter and you master has called in a small gathering of the _Hijos Tropicano_?"

"Yes sir,"

"Gentlemen of the Tropics some call it?"

"Yes sir,"

"These men including your master, as I believe, have spent a considerable time of their lives in tropical countries?"

"Most certainly sir,"

"And yet at the height of winter where the cold is most bitter we are to be led into a Glass Room in the Garden wing?"

"That is correct sir." Chives said with what sounded like a smirk to his voice.

"Hmmm…" Holmes touched his fingers to his chin, a look Watson easily recognized that he was deep in thought. But as they made a left into another corridor Holmes had said nothing more and started to loosen the buttons of his jacket.

"What are you thinking of?" Watson asked, not able to contain his suspense any longer.

"Don't ask, just wait and we shall see if my speculation is correct, and I advise you to take off that thick coat."

"But it's cold."

"Take it off before you become a baked potato."

He had hardly slipped out of his coat when Chives stopped in front of a white double door. Then he took off his right glove and with his bare knuckles, tapped on the door once and drummed his fingers twice. Watson looked at Holmes in question who simply shrugged. A single drum of fingers sounded from the other side of the door after which Chives opened it and led them in.

"What the-"

They had only stepped in for a few seconds when Watson felt the sweat break on his brow and his jacket uncomfortably warm. Holmes felt a little cooler since he had taken off his winter jacket and waist coat. The place was so bright he thought they had stepped outsideWhen they had adjusted to the light, Watson saw that the place was filled with foliage and smelled strongly of flowers and the humidity was entirely contrary to the outside. Stunted palm trees grew in huge garden pots towered over their heads; bushes of plants that he did not recognize made a hedge on either side of a small path. Bromeliads grew big and small in clusters, huge colorful orchids hung and clung to the trunks of the taller trees, hibiscus trees grew in abundance and their flowers gave a touch of scarlet in the green surroundings. Watson looked up and realized that the walls and the roof gave the room its name; vines crawled and crisscrossed on some parts of the glass.

The curious knocking of Chives had been answered by a servant who stood by the door, all servants in the room were in their summer uniform. Obviously the furnace provides the room with the steam and warm air but there were also two fire places that roared generous flames and on the fire a huge cauldron of water simmered and steamed, adding to the humid atmosphere. From behind some plants they can see a set of rattan sofas and armchairs.

"I was right." Holmes muttered to Watson. "You are now a baked potato."

"Ah! There they are!"

Lord Barrington's voice boomed from where the sitting was, he stood in greeting and they saw that he was clad in summer clothes, his face flushed and pink with the warmth but nonetheless looked comfortable. "Welcome gentlemen to my favorite room in the entire mansion!"

"Good afternoon Lord Barrington," Holmes said and shook the other's hand. "I believe you invited us over to meet the Gentlemen of the-"

"Ah yes! Yes! To meet my fellow club mates of the _Hijos_! Of course do take a seat first and refresh yourselves with Chives' special iced tea."

Holmes did so and gulped down his drink as if he had spent all day out in the sun. But his pleasure was cut short when he realized that an old man sat across him looked at him with calculating beady black eyes behind a pince-nez. The man has a tuft of white hair on his balding head and was garbed in a black habit and a golden crucifix hung from his neck; it was the parson from the church last Christmas.

"By the looks on each others' face, you seem to be acquainted with each other." Barrington said.

"Only by sight and conduct but never by name, Lord Barrington." The old parson said with a low croaky voice.

"Yes… what he said." Holmes added feeling rather uncomfortable. Watson also recognized the parson and looked over at Holmes with a smirk.

"I might as well introduce you then! Mr. Holmes this is Parson Merryweather of Heather Village, a close friend of mine and a member of the Club. Dear Parson, this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the sole consulting detective on the face of God's earth, he is the brother of Mycroft Holmes."

"Of course, I had the pleasure in meeting Mr. Holmes here last Christmas Eve; he had a few words to say about religion." He said stolidly.

Holmes warily shook the reverend's hand who still fixed upon him a look he didn't like. Another man walked into the room, his footsteps had a flopping sound to it. A stout man appeared before them with a trim ginger handlebar mustache and a monocle, his cheeks were ruddy and his head seemed to connect instantly with his shoulders for his face was so fat. When Holmes looked, he had very huge and wide feet.

"Oh, Bob, I see your other friends have arrived already!" He had a thick American accent, "Hello gentlemen!" he shook their hands, "I'm Mr. Ralph Brian Osmond from California, do forgive my earlier absence, I was looking for the lavatory, but let's chat on that later, introduce them to me Bobby!" He said with a boyish laugh.

When the introductions and other sorts of propriety were done with, the five gentlemen lounged into their rattan chairs with drinks in hand and settled into casual conversation.

"This Glass Room of yours Lord Barrington is quite ingenious I should say. Who would have thought a mansion in the country deep with snow could secret a place that echoes the rainforests of the tropics." Holmes said.

"Oh ho! I wouldn't get him to telling that story of his Mr. Holmes!" Osmond interrupted with a jesting laugh. "It'll be a long tale!"

"Oh I'm interested in long stories; in fact listening to them provides food to my table." Holmes said with a smile that left a bewildered look on Osmond's boyish face.

"Thank you Mr. Holmes. I think maybe I as well ought to tell you as we wait for the other gentlemen." Barrington laughed and cleared his throat as he began. "It was an idea than dawned upon me a few years after I had fought in the Afghan War. You see after finishing university I had traveled and spent years in India, father had a business of trade and a house there and I lived in ease. I was terribly fond of elephants, tigers and monkeys, our wealth managed me to acquire said beasts, I managed to tame the tiger that it would purr against my leg like a kit, and I rode no horse for I prefer my elephant. The monkey I had trained to become my friend and he always got me into trouble, my love of these animals drove me to become a veterinarian, I met my first wife there, when her own pet monkey got sick. We were married and started a young family. When the war started I was recruited as a field surgeon so I left the comforts of my tropical home and fought in the desert; an injury upon my person forced me to bring my family home to my father's estate here and if it were not for my wife, my daughter and my son-"

"Oh, there is a Miss Barrington?" Holmes asked in surprise.

"Yes, my daughter Alice, but she isn't here now, she studies abroad in America."

"Oh, okay. Pray, continue your narrative." He smiled and Barrington continued.

"Where was I? Oh yes, we came here and if not for my dears, my life would have been very cold indeed for I had gotten used to the warm and sunny India and the bitter winters always hurt my war injury. But when my then wife started a green house one spring it came to me to make an even larger green house where I could grow my dearly missed tropical flora. The warmth and humidity of the Glass Room is very reminiscent of my dear India and I seek refuge here every cold winter's day. I had improved this room as a memory to my late first wife after she passed away. Well, there you have it Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, I have stated my experience in the tropics, and I think my companions would like to share theirs too."

The parson had spent time as a missionary in the Caribbean colonies while Osmond sought fortune in Central America. When they were done they all looked at Holmes and Watson.

"What about you Dr. Watson? You are young yet look like a man of the world already, the soul of experience shows in your eyes." The parson addressed Watson.

"I'm afraid my journey doesn't have much difference with Lord Barrington's, I was a war surgeon as well and I also suffered the same injury." He indicated to his left leg. "I then came home here and made the acquaintance of Sherlock Holmes; that concludes my short tale gentlemen."

When Watson finished they all turned to Holmes this time who said:

"I sought refuge in Tibet for a year and ran across the borders of India, Cambodia, and Siam then back to India and to France where I hid under the identity of a scientist all on account of an assassin sent after me. Now gentlemen please excuse me as I run out," he rose from his seat, "I need the lavatory, and don't worry Chives I know where it is." He told the butler who stepped forward for him.

The members of the _Hijos Tropicano_ blinked back their surprise as the detective rushed out, but Watson knew why his friend acted so suddenly.

For when a servant had come in with a tray of refreshments while was telling his story, he saw through the door a flutter of a blue skirt pass outside in the corridor and the trail of Parisian perfume.

* * *

><p>He caught up with her in the library. Holmes huffed to catch his breath, for a woman in a dress she walked fast, but he had an excuse; the stuffy humidity in the Glass Room exhausted him. She stood there with her back to him, carefully selecting a title from the shelf.<p>

"Not quite used to the Glass Room are we Sherlock?" she said as she took down a book.

"Have you been time traveling, Irene?" He replied. At first sight he thought she was walking around the place in only her chemise, but upon closer inspection he saw it was a Regency gown, the sleek empire waist silhouette hugging her body.

"That seems like a fun idea, if only I could." She laughed. She followed his gaze and said, "I am a betrothed woman Sherlock, don't look at me like that." She smiled. "Or you shall have to answer to my fiancé."

"Your fiancé shall thank me after I rid him of you." He stood his ground as she walked around while flipping through her book.

"Don't be so mean." She laughed.

"Never mind that, I'm actually wondering why you stay here. Isn't that against propriety? You are after all just engaged. Are you sleeping together already?"

"The events in a bedroom remain between the man and the woman, dear detective, but I don't see why not telling you wouldn't amuse me." She glanced him a mischievous grin and turn back to her book. "Ah here it is…" she trailed off as she fixed her attention to the page. Holmes made to speak but she held out a finger to shush him, intently reading the passage.

"_For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Rome__o…"_

She let out a content sigh with closed eyes and clasped the book to her chest. What happened next was expected as the unexpected.

Irene flung the book with full force at him that he almost didn't dodge. It flew straight into the fire of the hearth behind him, the logs crackling and embers flying into the air as the leather bound book smoldered into ash.

"What the-" he exclaimed. "Do you treat all books like that?" he yelled at her accusingly, but Irene just stood there with the same dreamy look.

"I just had to read that last page; I left it out the last time you see." She said eagerly then she turned to him this time with a different tone of voice. "I have a habit of destroying evidence don't you remember? I _borrow _files and documents and study them, but afterwards I'm inclined to get rid of them. Then I remain the sole intelligence for whom who may employ me. But in this case, what you witnessed was simply a reflex." She turned her back to him and walked towards the wall. "I've spent such a long time in that field that my daily activities often reflect my past…"

Irene reached up to a rapier that hung on the wall and then walked towards him; weapon in hand. Seeing what she was up to, he looked around for his own rapier and found one above the hearth.

"What can I say?" She stroked the dull blade with her fingers and pointed the rapier to his throat. "Old habits die hard."

Sherlock Holmes fell into guard stance.

"_En Garde."_

It was like the dance all over again. The Game. Irene's game. He knew she was always up to no good, yet he always lets her have her way, kind of. He was used to this, in fact he was so used to it he actually longs for it when it's not there. Eight years, eight years of his life he allowed this woman to dance him of the palm of her hand and she danced with him, he never complained. Sure there are the occasional battles and the usual exchange of sarcasm yet there were those nights that compensated for the fighting, so he never complained.

But now as they parried their swords around the room trying to best each other once more, Holmes realized he wanted something else.

This was getting frustrating.

Ridiculous.

Redundant.

Boring.

But he wasn't complaining, not at all. And when she missed to block his attack; he found his window of opportunity.

Irene Adler found her back pinned to a bookcase with Sherlock Holmes on her lips.

The kiss knocked the wind out of her more than when he tackled her. They've done this before, mostly initiated by her, but this was new.

_What the hell is going on? What is he doing? Why is he doing this? _

The questions piled up in her mind and they disappeared as fast as they came. She was too distracted to think now, not when his hands cupped her cheek and his warm body pressed against hers, more importantly the fact that he was kissing her like mad. Her eyes fluttered close, her thinking clouded, and she kissed him back.

_Why am I doing this?_

His arm snaked around her waist and she was pulled closer, deeper into the kiss. Holmes pulled his lips away and she almost complained, only to have him leave gentle kisses on her neck. She didn't dare let a whimper escape her lips.

"An answer," he nibbled on her soft neck and her breathing hitched, "to your earlier question." She hated herself for talking now.

"Hmmm…" was his reply in between ravaging her neck and shoulders with his lips. His hands roamed her back and clutched at her dress. Holmes pulled away from the bookcase. He sat down in the closest armchair still embracing her and pulled her onto his lap.

"We haven't-"

He claimed her lips again.

"-been _together _yet."

He stopped, and stared into her eyes with a confused look.

"I- I mean, Barrington and I, we don't sleep-"

"Shut up."

And he kissed her again.

It was the middle of winter and Sherlock Holmes felt hot. He continued to ravage the woman on his lap, his reason was lost and everything around them didn't seem to exist except for the chair whose dignity they were molesting. So as long as she didn't pull away just yet, his hot blooded subconscious would remain and the deductive reasoner in him would stay asleep.

"-Why are you doing this?" she whispered hoarsely.

"Old habits," he nibbled on her lower lip, "die hard."

He dipped his head to her neck and bit her collar bone; Irene gasped and entangled her fingers in his hair. He left kisses on her chest, lower and lower and pulled down the front of her dress exposing herself to his hungry hands and lips. Irene arched her back in anticipation and he hungrily obliged...

Footsteps.

Light hurried footsteps sounded from the corridor outside approaching from the Glass Room.

_Watson._

It was a mere second when she was still on his lap, sitting up alert, and looking very indecent. The next second the door swung open and there appeared his friend. When he turned back again she was gone like a ghost.

Watson stood there looking serious; he obviously did not see Irene. It was a good thing he didn't because Holmes hated to explain.

"Oh hello Watson, come to join me in reading?" he feigned innocence.

"You're needed back in there Holmes."

* * *

><p>The Glass Room had five additional other people in it since he left, minus the servants. Two were members of the <em>Hijos Tropicano, <em>two were local constabularies, and the last one was a grouchy looking old man who turned out to be the leader of Heather Village.

Barrington looked grave.

"What d'yeh suggest I do with them village folk sir?" Peter Simon, the Village Leader, said. "I mean only two women saw the bloody corpse, but yeh cah' 'spect it go quiet. 'Em bloody nights had gone on and this the sixt' 'un yet!" Simon was worried but he spoke calmly. "I'm tellin' yeh they'd been 'spectin' this. Some 'ave moved sir, if we cah' protect 'em people they'd flock out like geese in wintah!"

"Sit down and be calm Simon, I assure you we will have this fixed." Barrington said, not looking up and still looking sullen. "It is our very luck to have Mr. Holmes present in town, he handles these cases expertly." Barrington gave Holmes a weak smile.

Which Holmes didn't return; he was still distracted by what had happened five minutes ago.

"Mr. Holmes here will be assisted by our local police, I assume that's alright with you Inspector Sachs?" Barrington asked the inspector.

"It would be an experience my Lord, but I assure you that every police force within the radius of twenty miles are capable with dealing with our own local problems." Sachs replied with what looked like a half curtsey. "The force is well equipped to handle this case on its own."

"Really?" Holmes interjected. "Then do tell me dear inspector, if you are as capable as you say, then how come the lack of prevention for these crimes?"

The deductive reasoner was awake now.

Sachs looked taken aback but remained composed. "We are on the process of dealing with it now."

"What part of the process? Contemplative?" Holmes sneered.

"_Holmes." _Watson warned.

Holmes quieted with a smirk.

"I'll handle the negotiations from here." Watson continued.

For some time now, he had served as Holmes' manager in some cases when the detective's hot headedness would get in the way between them and solving the case. He was adept at making arrangements to fit both Holmes and the client (and sometimes Scotland Yard). Something Holmes allowed him to do, since it helped a lot and prevented senseless arguments and law suits.

"What do you propose we do Dr.?" Barrington asked.

"Inspector," Watson acknowledged the man, "would it be of any help to your investigation if we worked along side you as an independent source?"

"By that you mean?"

"Sherlock Holmes and I will carry on our own investigation as you would yours, but without one of us having to answer to the other. We may come up with different results and have different trails, but these we will compare and discuss and with liberty, both sides have access to the other's gathered evidence. It will be twice as fast and twice as efficient, and I believe that if we work this way we will be able to solve the case-"

"There are six." Simon said.

"-cases then, at a good rate and have the job done by early March."

"March?" Barrington said, worried. "Forgive me but, isn't that quite far off yet?"

Holmes shushed Watson. "You had enough talking Watson, now my turn." He faced the rich lord. "My colleague here is not wrong when he said March. There are factors for the delay. One is which; there are six cases, unless we get to look at this present one right away we may be further delayed, and another, these crimes may have different suspects or interconnected all together and we must figure that out, and the last factor is this conversation. If we don't wrap this up now you may as well wait for Inspector Sucks to solve this by September."

Watson shook his head and gave Sachs an almost pleading look. The inspector sighed.

"Very well, you've made you point. But we work independently, not totally, but still. My troops have potential. I guess there's no harm in letting you Londoners take a stroll of the country crime scene."

"Well I guess that's it!" Barrington stood up. "Inspector, if you will, please lead them down to the scene of the crime and everything may proceed from there."

As they made their way out, Holmes said. "Gentlemen I must say, this is the best birthday yet."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I must say, the kissing part was the one that took the longest to right. XD I'd be lying if I said I didn't ask for help in writing it.(cough*boyfriend*cough)*wink wink nudge nudge***

**The game isn't afoot just yet! Holmes will see if this case is of any interest at all, since he is currently interested in doing something (or someone) else. *wink2 nudge2***

** Six deaths. related or unrelated? **

**And does Inspector Sucks- i mean Sachs, prove to be another Lestrade? Worse or better? Never mind, Holmes won't like him anyway.**

**I'll update again next week! And you'll probably see more of Terry there. ^_^**

**BTW. Just watched The Avengers and Tony is HOTTTT 3 sorry for fangirling. w**

**-Jacques Sparreaux**


	10. Paper Cut

**A/N: I'm deciding on a two or three week break in between chapters. To give time for me to think and improve the next chapters to come. Also to make room for reviews. C: To those who reviewed thank you so much! I appreciate your support and love for this fic. You don't know what it means to me to be able to share my work. C:**

**So to those who adored the books, I had part of this chapter gone back to basic. :D I always enjoy reading from Watson's point of view, it was like going on the adventure myself with the doctor walking beside me equally unprepared for what was to come. So I tried my own hand at it, also to practice my 1st person narration. hehehe**

**Here's the beginning of another case. ENJOY and may the force be with you. XD **

**- Jacques Sparreaux**

* * *

><p><strong>Paper Cut<strong>

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><p><em>Entry by John H. Watson<em>

_January 6th 1897_

"Mary won't talk to me." I told my companion.

We sat across each other in the police carriage on our way down to the crime scene, the inspector and his constable sat out on the driver's seat in front. What made me mention that topic was beyond me for what he replied was this:

"Well aren't you the lucky chap!"

I sighed inwardly. It was not unknown to me my friend's difficult relationship with my wife, and his mockery of her is simply one of the many habits I have learned to tolerate if not ignore, so much as long as he no longer tries to sabotage our marriage. But today (contrary to his usual enumeration that her teaching methods on our daughter were ineffective), his episode of mockery begun and ended with that single line. I should be grateful, but no.

Yes.

But _NO._

I am not grateful. My Mary is okay with Holmes' attitude towards her and she is as perfect and stable minded as ever through out their acquaintance, but Holmes hates change (I know for he spent a train ride lecturing me on it) and that discontinued line was change. I knew something was wrong immediately. So as the selfless martyr that I am, I continued the conversation.

"She hasn't spoken to me properly since the Ball; she goes around like always but is cold towards me."

"Uh-huh." He replied while gazing absent-mindedly outside the window with a hand continually rubbing at his lips as if deep in thought.

"It's been bothering me for quite sometime already, I don't know what the matter is. Why won't she talk to me? I've asked her countless times."

"Such a waste of saliva to ask her that then." He spoke while still looking outside and incessantly touching his mouth.

"Why do you say that?"

"There's no really point in asking _why _she won't talk to you when she is in the middle of _not_ talking to you because dear me Watson, you will never get an answer." He babbled.

"It was about us lying about Ms Adler." I finally blurted out and he turned his head over to me at last.

"Well if you knew, why are we having this conversation?"

I sighed again, "Never mind that now, you're not interested anyways."

"If it's about marriage dear boy, never been, never will." He went back to gazing outside, fingers still on lips.

"Speaking of Ms. Adler, did you encounter her earlier?"

He didn't look at me but I saw his face twitch, he blinked a few times and he rubbed his lips a little faster. Piecing the few details together I concluded the happening in the library I wasn't able to witness, and felt the urge to reprimand my colleague. I would have but the carriage came to a stop and we reached out destination.

There were only three other people on the scene; a constable and two men from the town morgue standing beside the corpse. Without much further ado and form of greeting my friend employed his characteristic method like a hound sniffing around for a scent. He first hovered by the body and walked around and then again kneeling down and sniffed at the neck, hair, shirt, and the fingers. The fatal wound appeared to be a stab to the abdomen; blood had spurted all over the man's front.

Holmes checked the pockets and gave one last look at the dead man inch by inch from head to toe and walked around within the radius of a couple of meters with eyes on the snow covered ground. He tutted a few times as if dissatisfied by what he saw, then told us all to clear away and stand back beside the carriage and to wait for him, then he walked down the road in the direction of Heather Village.

I noted down all these observations while in wait and decided to interview Sachs and the others about the incident in further detail. I had gathered many but useless points from them when my friend appeared from behind the wooded snowy bend almost an hour later; twigs and snow caught on his hat, his hair in disarray and the grey material of his trousers soiled with earth on the knees.

"Self defense." He said when he got near.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"Even to my rare and expertly trained eyes,"

It took me every muscle to stop myself from rolling my own eyes.

"Clues I have gathered points to self defense and this man here is the initial suspect but was taken down by his very own victim."

"We have actually established that upon investigation earlier this morning." Sachs said smugly, "seems like you just followed our tracks Mr. Holmes, and here I was hoping for a little enlightenment of your findings."

"Yes, I figured that out too, that you've attempted to investigate. You've touched the corpse and flipped him over and set him back as you found him. That's good. Your constabulary protocol uniform combat boots left very distinctive sole prints on the snow that obliterated the more recent traces of the crime. That's bad." He waved a finger at Sachs. "I see that you've concluded that the initial victim is a man of medical practice?"

"A doctor?" I asked, feeling very interested now.

"Yes, we learned that." Sachs said.

"And by what means did you deduce he was a doctor?"

"We found a few glass vials containing medicine strewn near the scene, most probably scattered in a struggle."

"Oh tut tut Sachs! He could have been anything with those glass vials; an apothecary, a chemist, or simply a man bringing medicine with his person!"

Sachs huffed a bit. "Then what else is there that assures you it _is_ a doctor?"

Holmes smiled. "Come over here, you especially Watson." He led us near the body. "Oh no need to be light on your feet Sachs, you've already managed to damage any evidence." He flipped the body on its front, stroked back the filthy scraggly hair and exposed a thin gash on the back of a slightly purple neck.

"We have seen that already Mr. Holmes." Sachs said tiredly.

"Do you have a hanky constable?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Handkerchief, you know white cotton square of fabric?"

Sachs handed him one. "I don't see what you're going at but to me it's simply a paper cut in a wrong place." Holmes started wiping the dirt and a little clotted blood off the wound and handed back the hanky. The inspector pocketed it begrudgingly.

"Now, see here," he pointed to the thin horizontal line that stretched about four inches across the spine. "Watson this is in your field, now, we have a dead man with a fatal wound across his nape that I believe anybody would mistake for a paper cut, but, see here." He pressed a finger to the gash and the spine beneath it gave way.

"Cataract knife." I blurted out.

"Yes, the undersized and underestimated cataract knife utilized to hew minute nicks on muscle and tissue ranging from the medically advantageous to the fatal." Holmes looked at the ashen faced Sachs. "Only a doctor would be carrying around a cataract knife more so to use it as a weapon. Any other man would find it far too small to inflict any damage."

He demonstrated with his fingers how short the blade of the said knife usually was.

"Seeing as the sturdy spine had been hacked and gave way, the tiny knife was used to stab and not cut, but the very thin wound made by the blade clotted close almost immediately caused it not to bleed profusely. Now I dare you inspector to call that a paper cut."

Sachs face was contorted with embarrassment but the man was made with sturdier stuff. "Very well, you've proven that the assailant is a doctor with a little knife-"

"and that you lack investigatory prowess." Holmes simply smiled at the tall country inspector. "Alright now, it seems I had seen enough to start off with this case Watson, I think it is time we go back to Meldowney. Our dear benefactor must be waiting for us with a nice pot of tea."

"I don't think Sachs can hear us now, better yet tell me what there is to tell." I regarded my friend's silence.

He is obviously eager to keep the details from Sachs to ensure his own clear work flow. We sat inside the police carriage on our way back to the mansion and I prepared myself to listen intently and catch every detail of his observation during the ride.

"Ah, you read me like an open book Watson, I might as well tell you now. I am bursting with excitement on this case. You observed the shards of broken glass on the snow earlier?"

"Yes, you seemed displeased with it."

"I am, Sachs' constables had trampled all over the central five meter radius around the body, in which most murder cases, principal evidence would be found in, those vials may have contained chemicals which would have led us to our doctor if we are able to classify its source. But within that rugby mess of footprints I was able to distinguish the constabulary uniform boots from the dead man's rain boots and the doctor's patent leather oxfords."

"Wait, how would you know the material of the shoe when it was the footprints you saw?" I asked.

"Innovative machinery these days is utilized in shoe factories to increase production. The doctor's soles, I observed, had a machine stamped brand name to its ball that calls to mind a certain French shoe brand known for the sleek and sturdy patent leathers they use."

"Montserrat, I am familiar with the merchandise, it has two shops only in London and the rest in France. Very exquisite shoes but far too expensive for the ordinary doctor don't you think?"

"Oh yes I think, which is why I can narrow down that our dear doctor is a wealthy city dweller simply visiting the country."

"Hang on, didn't you say this all happened as an act of self defense? Why are we discussing the victim when we have the suspect?"

"You didn't listen well; I said even to me, it all appears as an act of self defense. There is a significant amount of clues that turn the tables and our dear doctor is in fact the suspect! And the finding of him may lead us to understand the five pervious other cases."

"You walked off for a while back there, what did you see?"

"Like I said, the five meter radius was no longer of any help to me so I looked for signs of earlier events and the footsteps always tell a story. The doctor had been followed by our unfortunate man, whom by the way is a sewage worker-"

"Sewage worker? But this is the country side, the nearest urban community is town and it doesn't have any large sewers at all."

"I'll get to that later, be patient and listen. On my walk I reached a public house just outside the hamlet and found that our dead man had been idling there last night, from there he pursued the doctor. The events I placed around four o'clock in the morning, meaning our doctor had a very late house call. Contrary to the belief of some that the doctor just came to the country and is now currently hiding for his life, the footprints tell otherwise. He left at that hour so no one would see him but of course the sewage worker knew he was around and followed. Apparently the doctor realized this and made a detour into the woods where a confrontation ensued."

"You found traces of struggle?"

"Affirmative."

"But where was the doctor from?"

"Ah, that I cannot tell, the footsteps have been trampled by village folk and no one was around at the dead of night to see, the only person who did is now lying with a severed spine in the morgue. Now, to what happened in that wood; it seems that the sewage worker was after something the doctor had for the man's portmanteau had opened and scattered, I have picked up a few papers and vials telling me I had been on the right path. Upon finding his object he made a run for it, but the doctor, a tall man for the distance of his footprints, caught up and another brawl happened injuring the sewage worker in the abdomen and the fatal blow to the neck. Now observe that the last blow was to the back yet the corpse was lying face up."

"He was flipped over and searched."

"Exactly, and unfortunately the doctor had found the object taken from him and made off with it. I found footsteps that lead back into the woods meaning he lost something else and looked for it there. But since I found no charred match stick to help him look in the dark hour and there was no empty dent in the untouched snow, he never found it, and it could easily be any of the objects in my pocket which I shall scrutinize over the moment we get home."

I sat back, once again awed by my colleague's talent. It was one of those cases where I rarely asked any questions but simply listened, observed and absorbed the happenings for little was my contribution when it came to deductive theory and I know Holmes needed as little distraction as possible.

He had quieted off while puffing on his pipe. That was it for now, new evidence may arise, but this is as far as anything gets. Holmes might want to interview a few more people but before that, we had to inform Barrington of our plans. But as I was excited to get on with the case and can barely stop scribbling points in my notebook my colleague still seemed distracted and distant.

He was no longer puffing on the pipe, but incessantly poked his lips with its end.

_End of Entry_

* * *

><p>"Two sugars please, Chives." Barrington held out his teacup and the butler obliged.<p>

"Since June of last year you said?" Holmes stirred honey into his tea.

"Yes, just at the onset of our Summer Fair, the first one was Mrs. Delaney." The lord let out a forlorn sigh. "She was a wonderful woman, quite in the middle of her years. She was popular among the children for she made the best toffee apples."

"How was she killed?" Watson asked.

"A toffee apple had been shoved down her throat." He gave another forlorn sigh.

"She was your housekeeper was she not?" Holmes said.

"What? W-why yes! But how did you know?"

"Oh nothing important, and is it her sister who resumed her post here then?" he went on as if he knew the workings of the household for years. Barrington looked thunderstruck but simply nodded. "Alright, I'd like to meet her soon then, but go on with the victims."

Barrington shrugged and continued. "Mrs. Delaney was killed outside the estate's premises, she was visiting a relative in a nearby Scot town and as she was traveling back she stayed in a hotel. She was found dead in her room with the apple forced down her throat. The coroner remarked that her jaw had been dislocated in the process." Barrington heaved and Chives gave his master a comforting pat on the back.

"Next was in the middle of July, a police officer in town was shot through the head, I assumed that to be a retaliation of some criminal he had apprehended and had no connection to Meldowney but his killer was never caught. After a week a nun was next found dead a hundred yards outside the Hospice east of here, she was said to have been violated then strangled to death. Then in early August, one of my stable boys was set on fire while asleep in his bed. Then again I started fearing for my family, you can imagine the turmoil I was going through Mr. Holmes! The killings were suddenly closing in on the mansion, and who were the people to go to for help but me? But how was I to trust that no one of them who came near was to kill me or my family next?"

The huge man trembled in his seat and his tea sloshed around in its cup. Chives set another comforting hand on the back of his master and took the cup from his hands.

"I believe Mr. Holmes that you have heard enough that my master had to say?" The butler looked from Holmes to Watson then to Holmes again.

"Yes, I think so too, your master needs rest, but I just need the last victim." Holmes looked tentatively at the weary lord then at his butler.

"The fifth victim survived," Sachs said plainly from his post at the corner, "or rather, had gotten away before the murderer had done severe damage."

"Oh? That's a development for the force then!" Holmes chided.

Watson elbowed his friend's side. "I don't think now's the time for jokes Holmes."

Holmes turned to Sachs. "Very well," he sipped on his tea, "I'll need the name. Who's the lucky fellow?"

"Elizabeth Amour."

There was choking and sputtering then dead silence where Holmes shifted his wide eyed gaze from Sachs to Barrington to Watson who also shared his wide eyed look.

"W-well, gentlemen, I guess that will be all for now. Watson and I have gathered enough to begin our investigation, in the mean time," he dabbed at the wet tea stain on his jacket, "let us wait for further developments."

Sachs stepped out from his corner, "By that, do you mean to say wait for the murderedr to strike again and take another innocent person's life?"

"Weeeell," Holmes put a finger to his chin, "if you can avoid it, it would be nice. But if you put it that way then the more the merrier!"

Sachs stared at Holmes as if he was crazy then bowed to Barrington with an apologetic leave then he stormed out of the Glass Room.

"I take that we must leave too, Lord Barrington, work is waiting and time is a-wasting." Holmes stood from his seat.

"Yes, of course, you men are tired. Rest when you get home and work tomorrow. I shall escort you out."

"Thank you," he turned to the doctor, "come Watson, we're heading home."

"Just a minute. This desert is simply heavenly, I'll have to tell Mary to make some."

Holmes rolled his eyes as the doctor noshed on a chocolate cake. "By the way Watson, about the sewage worker." Holmes whispered to his companion who enjoyed his treat.

"Oh yes, I forgot to ask, how did you know?"

"He smelled strongly of human excrement."

The chocolate cake was left unfinished.

Barrington escorted them out in silence. While Watson chose to stay back a little to talk with Chives about the cake recipe, Holmes walked beside the silent figure of Barrington.

"Such a gorgeous event to be looking forward to, too bad it won't happen soon." Holmes tattled casually as they walked down the hall, but it got Barrington's attention.

"Excuse me?"

"The wedding of course! Imagine after all these trying times, a marriage would _definitely_ cure the sorrow of your people, but what with the lax in security and the incompetence of the police force, you yourself doubt the possibility of a wedding within this year. After all, an attempt had been made at Ms. Adler's life and with the new case stirring around keeping people awake in their beds in anxiety, who would have time to plan a wedding party?"

Barrington simply nodded in silence.

"But I believe otherwise!"

This time he looked at Holmes in askance. "What do you mean otherwise Mr. Holmes?"

"That you can plan the wedding! You can go on with it within the year without worries. Of course there is still the issue of trust on who to let near your family, but do not fret about the entire Holmes household for we are in your service and you can count on every one of us, from Mycroft and me to the scullery maid and the page boy and everybody else in between. As for the Watsons, there is no better family to have beside you I guarantee that Lord Barrington."

Holmes glanced up at the tall man and saw renewed vitality in his eyes.

"They will be there when you need them since Watson and I would be busy with the case from time to time, yet we are accustomed to taking no rests so whenever you need us just give a call."

"Mr. Holmes that is very generous of you." Barrington beamed.

"Oh don't thank me; it is my very duty, once involved in a case, to ensure my client's safety. If I could stay by your very bedside to protect you all day and night, I surely would."

"Ah, I do not worry for my safety as much I would worry for my family and my fiancé-"

"Speaking of your fiancé, it is a terrible thing for her to have such an attempt on her life!"

"Yes, it shook my countenance so. But I have heightened her security; she sleeps peacefully to this day."

"But do you trust her security?"

"What?"

"You said you no longer know who to trust these days, if I was you, you would have someone you truly trust to watch over her as her guardian. I don't advise employing constables from the force for, as I mentioned earlier, they are incompetent."

The lord took a while to contemplate Holmes' suggestion and they were at the door when he spoke again. "Thank you for all that Mr. Holmes, I bid you good afternoon. I shall have someone to call at your place soon to inform you of any developments."

"So shall I Lord Barrington." And he stepped out into the winter with Watson.

Watson looked at his friend as they trod across the snow covered path. "Well that was dramatic."

"Which part?" He smirked.

"Every part! The talk about the wedding, the glorification of your household, the feigned worry about Irene's safety! What was that about?"

"Oh, you'll learn sooner or later my dear Watson, though in this case I can say sooner."

Watson huffed and chose not to argue as they waited for the stable boy to fetch the horse of their parked hansom.

"Mr. Holmes!" a lady's voice called out.

When Watson turned around he saw one of the red headed triplets galloping towards them on horseback. She halted her stallion in front of them and dismounted

"Hello Ms. Barrington." Watson pressed his lips to her hand not really sure which miss Barrington she was.

"Good afternoon Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes." She turned to him.

"Good afternoon to you too Miss Purple." He said with a smile. The stable boy came with the horse, and while Watson helped to hitch the animal, Holmes talked with Terry.

"It's been some time I had not seen you both, I must say it makes this winter day a little warmer to see you around and _please _call me Terry." She laughed.

"Yes, I know, but Purple would suit your sisters' names. You were herding the sheep into the barns, I see."

Terry laughed again and smiled at Holmes' wit. "Never mind that now! I see you're here to over look the tragic case? Well I really wish you would, Inspector Sachs truly gets us nowhere in his investigations!"

Holmes smiled and patted the young girl on the head. "Young ladies like you should be sitting inside the drawing room busying herself with embroidery, but I _like _how you think, Miss Purple."

The horse was hitched and it was time to go.

"I do wish to see you around here more often Mr. Holmes." She waved as they went.

"Oh you'll see more of me soon dear child." He waved back.

When he sat back beside Watson, he chuckled under his breath.

"A lot more."

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><p><strong>AN: I'm still having trouble getting this case together, because I technically started this fic with a story plot complete with beginning and ending in mind, but I truly did not consider the in-betweens, like the details of the case for example. **

**It's still very _smudgy_ in my mind to say. So once again it might take a while for me to update, but I actually have a synopsis for Chapter 11 already. I just need to write down the entire chap. XD**

**Review please! Let it be suggestions for the case(if so, PM me XD) or simply any whole hearted review. :D **

**What do you think about Watson's journal entry? I'll be making a few more in some chapters. To have a sense of variety in the story-telling since mostly is Holmes' 3rd person POV and some are Irene's 3rd person POV. Holmes' being in the ever-meteoric sense and Irene giving it a feminine and romantic side while Watson's is, of course, for the reader. :)**

**Have ideas already about the murders? Will there be more? Like Holmes said, the more the merrier.**

**-Jacques Sparreaux**


	11. The Lady Insists

**A/N: This took so long because of school work. (here in the Philippines, school starts at June and ends in March) I got a bit drained with the stress, since 3rd year college students get a lot of subjects dumped on them, and my imagination a bit drained as well. Chapter 11 may be shorter than what I'm used to write, but then again every chapter has important details in it, so I hope you just read along and enjoy. Chapter 12 is already half-way in progress, I will upload it next week. I promise. :)**

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><p><strong>The Lady Insists<strong>

* * *

><p>The doctor was R. A. Turnstone, a wealthy middle aged widower with no children who smoked German cigars, visited opium dens regularly and wears thick spectacles because of his very impaired vision.<p>

So far that was all he could gather about the man through the items he had found in the snow. But what else he gathered from the items were more interesting details.

There were three receipts for various ointments that the doctor must have purchased for a patient. The receipts will eventually come to good use; he stashed them into a new dossier made especially for this case. But the letters were the ones that caught his special attention.

Holmes ordered them by how recently they were written. They were apparently handed from the sender to the doctor by associates since there were no dates and postage and coarse, thick typing paper was used, but by the distinct crumple and frayed edges of each he could tell which one had been with the doctor for the longest.

All were written in brief statements.

The first one read in a man's sprawling hand writing:

_In need of your help. _

_Infected lesion, flesh rotting off. _

_Your field of expertise. Considerable wage._

_We have relocated south._

_Intriguing_. Very intriguing he thought.

There was no signature, no watermarks and no clear directions that pointed to the sender's location; the last line did not provide much help. By the certain words used, the writer appears to be an educated man. By the lack of personal urgency, he concluded the patient to be a third person and judging by the short and direct letter, the sender knew the doctor very well, who most likely knew the place referred to or was accompanied there.

He placed the epistle close to his nose and took a long whiff. It had been kept in the man's portmanteau for very long, more than six months he figured by the age of the paper.

The second letter looked considerably younger than the first one:

_We sacked the nurse. She's an idiot at dressing the wound and has been taken care of._

_The hot weather does him no good, it has swollen in the heat; he wants you to look over it._

_Come quick. Do not worry; generous recompense._

They killed the nurse. So the patient is a man, and the second letter was sent on the onset of heat which puts it in early summer and by the raggedness of the first, it would have been sent weeks before. Holmes wanted to figure out just how much these people meant by generous recompense and who the unfortunate woman was.

The third letter:

_Heat becoming unbearable, old man becoming dreadful by the minute._

_He wants to walk he said. Get him crutches._

_He has arranged for you to stay here. _

_Do not object._

There was fear in the part of the writer. The writing, unlike the previous two, was shaky and the pen was pressed hard against the paper. The patient has a leg injury judging by the crutches. The 'dreadful' he understood to mean this must be a hot tempered or simply malevolent person.

The idea of the Londoner doctor opting to go home after every visit rather than lodge with his apparently wealthy patient paints a picture to Holmes. Turnstone obviously did not want to have anything to do with his patient whoever it was and stayed away in the safety of the city as much as possible. This sole correspondent knew Turnstone well enough yet had not the freedom the other had; the sender was tied to the patient's bedside. The warning in the last line meant that even if he objected there will be action to hunt him out.

Turnstone must be a very expert surgeon above his peers for someone so wealthy to pick him out of the many and to offer him huge wages and keep him in residence; Holmes was yet to hear of him. He was the weak link in this chain of correspondence, the weaker chain was the sender which the patient has probably figured out that's why he keeps the other close. If Holmes could locate Turnstone, he could weed out this weaker man.

It appeared so deceivingly easy.

He was right and he groaned inwardly for thinking ahead of the clues, for the fourth letter twisted everything into another scenario. This time, the letter was written on a thin white parchment that sold by a crown apiece.

The letter was written by a woman.

_The little traitor is dead. He wanted to be noble for you and sent you away, and he died by gunshot. _

_I do hope this would not change our arrangement though, you are essential for his survival._

_Do not run for we will find you. Stay where you are offered protection and are well taken care of._

_You know where we are now._

_Come back, or he would have died in vain and so will you._

The taunting demeanor of the words sent chills down Holmes' spine. The two men were more than just correspondents, by the way the other was told to have saved the doctor they were apparently brothers. This was the second death mentioned in four letters, if more was to come in the last three, Holmes expected it.

The second Turnstone was killed in midsummer, and with that a clearer path of investigation presented itself, Holmes now had an idea who the second Turnstone was. If he was correct then most likely Dr. Turnstone's patient was in town now. The very first letter had mentioned them relocating south, and the woman's letter suggested that they had moved again. If they had a target, they would have gone south again and if by south they mean this very town, then Holmes also now had an idea who the nurse was.

By now Sherlock Holmes is very convinced that all deaths are related to each other, all he had to find was the reason why and the strings that pulled them together.

And then who was this woman? For all that he knew, this was not Irene's writing, not that it saved her from being suspect…

A cock crowed outside on the Holmes' stables alerting the detective that he had once again forgotten about sleep. He cleared the evidence, separated the already examined letters and objects from the ones that he had not and set the dossier aside. He would continue letter reading tonight, but for today he had other plans.

It was the 7th of January and as much as he denied it, the Watson's two-week Christmas vacation had been over two days ago extended only by Barrington's fortunately timed invitation, and although the pull of the current case would make John Watson want to stay, there was still the issue of his wife and child wanting to resume their city lives.

He needed more time, and he needed Watson with him, and as much as he would scorn it, he need Mary too, there is always an advantage to have a housewife on your side.

* * *

><p>Mary Watson woke up before sunrise to prepare herself and by the time she was done with her toilet, morning light would be sufficient for her to work in the kitchen to fix breakfast. Cook had the liberty of sleeping in a little later because Mary begged to handle the household during her stay.<p>

As she entered the kitchen, an apparition startled her that she screamed and fell into a heap on the floor. When her head cleared she found Sherlock Holmes standing over her with a glass of cold water in his hand and a devil-may-care look on his face.

"Mr. Holmes? Wh-what are you doing here?" he pulled her up, gave her the water to drink and resumed what he had been doing that scared the life out of her;

Flipping pancakes on a skillet.

"I don't know Mrs. Watson, what does it look like I'm doing?" he said blandly and flipped the last pancake of a batch onto an already stacked plate. He sliced a pat of butter and placed an adequate square of it on the hot breakfast and served the plate in front of Mary on the counter.

"Bon Appétit, Madame." He said and with a flourish, poured syrup on the stack.

Mary stood there for a while with the food in front of her, lips parted and eyes wide looking very astounded.

"…I-I swear, whatever it is Mr. Holmes, I did not do it!" she said beseechingly with a hand to her chest, looking very worried this time.

Holmes, who had started on a second batch, looked at her over his shoulder for a moment.

Then he burst out laughing.

He laughed so hard he shut his eyes to stop tears from falling and he clutched his sides and he laughed some more, pure genuine laughter that left Mary Watson bewildered and a bit scared. After a few moments that he did not stop laughing she decided to laugh along too, convinced that her anxiety over his kindness towards her was indeed a funny matter.

"Do calm yourself woman."

That shut her.

"Just because I present you with sustenance on a cold morning doesn't mean I accuse you of crime against me, where did you get that idea? Does it mean that when I prepare a luxuriant Boxing Day dinner for an entire household, they wronged me and I would eventually massacre them?" he said incredulously in between flips.

"Well you are capable of such…" she murmured to herself as she brought a forkful of breakfast to her mouth.

"Pardon?"

"These pancakes are wonderful! Mmm!"

They were, and as she ate, a rather comfortable silence passed between the two as Holmes joined her at the counter with his batch.

"Tell me Mary," he said.

She looked up at that, it was a rare occasion when the detective called her by her name without a trace of jest or malice, very rare for this was probably only the second time, times like these she had her guard up.

"Do you pine for the life of a governess much now that you are a mother?" he had a curious look on his face that told her he was serious about the question.

Mary Watson didn't know what to say, Sherlock Holmes always had trick questions up his sleeve and she was admittedly vulnerable to them.

"Well," she started clearing her empty plate, "I suppose it depends on what I miss about it. I do miss the teaching a lot, it was always wonderful to have students whom you can see grow beside you, but being a governess wasn't always about the teaching. It was also about child rearing, especially when the parents cannot do it by themselves. But since I already have my very own child, I could employ my teaching on her."

Holmes scoffed at that but hid it with a small cough.

"Elizabeth is quite younger than the children I've grown used to taking care of," she went on, "and younger children always require more work, then again if she grows older I wouldn't have to leave, would I?" she ended with a smile, then she cleared Holmes' plate and proceeded to wash.

"Yes, I see what you mean, but Lizzie is quite young for meticulous training. Although childrearing is a challenge don't you miss the delight in teaching adolescents the more complex academic systems, and what about manners? Etiquette?"

"Yes, they were quite enjoyable back in the day." She reminisced. "But that was then, I don't see myself tutoring other people's children now, or in the future whensoever's." She smiled as she washed the dishes.

"Hmmm, well that's too bad I guess, I'll just have to endure the friendship with a teenager who lacks propriety and manners. Imagine, riding out on horseback on a snowy day, without a chaperone mind you, with grown men! I rather doubt she even knows how to sew or embroider, preferring to play with farm animals than to read Shakespeare. Oh what has the young generation of ladies come to? I do wholly doubt that she has a governess looking after her"

While, he recited his gripe, Mary had turned to face him with a fixed expression on her face.

"May I know to whose daughter you are referring to?" she smiled stiffly.

"Oh, never mind, you've already stated your disinterest. Also, I wouldn't want your time with Lizzie to be cut short."

"Elizabeth wouldn't mind, she'll develop her independence without me; now tell me whose daughter you are talking about?"

"Really Mrs. Watson, I wouldn't want to be blamed if your child grows up detached-"

"I insist."

"The Barrington Triplets." He blurted.

The moment she heard the words, Mary's face fell ever so slightly. She turned away from him and started preparing breakfast for the rest of the house. "You mean the three young misses? Oh, that does seem quite unfortunate for them but I don't think I could…"

"You're thinking of not wanting to encounter Ms. Adler, aren't you?"

"What? Oh, no. Please don't bring that up. It's not that I don't like her; I just don't want her company. From all that I've heard-"

"Mary…"

"—I mean, never has a woman been so _wild-"_

"_Mary—"_

"—so _thoughtless _and—and _promiscuous!"_

"_Mary!"_

She slammed her hands on the counter. "Why are you yelling?"

"Because you're not listening!" Holmes had pushed himself up off his seat and leveled his face with hers. She looked somewhat ashamed for raising her voice; he calmed down and said in a softer voice, "Look, we're sorry."

"About what?"

"Your husband and I, we—we are sorry that we lied about Ms. Adler." He sat back down, if he were to talk a woman in unconsciously doing him a favor, it was no good to anger her. Mary didn't answer and resumed her cooking. "It was John's idea that we keep it from you to keep you safe. After all, you've never even met the woman and have only read of her in your husband's notes. I agreed with him and felt it was a charade we can keep up whenever she was around, but we didn't have to endure it long enough because of what had happened to her which we openly believed."

"You mean she did die?"

"Apparently not." It was hard trying to keep conversing with a person as dense as Mary Watson. "Now, she's back, and appears to be a changed woman. John agrees to that too."

"Then why didn't you tell me about it?"

"Because it was pointless and since Irene Adler is already 'dead' and _Elizabeth Amour _is alive." He stated, this conversation was getting too long even for him. "Not that we expected that to be unveiled at her engagement."

"Well, that does seem clear enough…"

"Then will you take the job?"

"I'm not really sure if I-"

"_Will_ you apply for the spot of governess?"

He didn't have to wait too long.

"Yes."

* * *

><p>"Mary? Mary dear?"<p>

John Watson woke up without his wife beside him, she wasn't in Elizabeth's room, and she wasn't in the toilet, neither was she in the kitchen. It was odd, because normally she would be found there if not anywhere else in the house. Today was the day they would be going back to London; Mary had said so regardless of the case, and he had already packed their luggage.

"First she wouldn't talk to me, now she wouldn't show herself to me." He muttered under his breath and made his way to his colleague's study. "This is all Holmes' fault; if I didn't have to lie then Mary wouldn't be mad."

He came to Holmes' corridor and a few paces away from the door he bellowed in annoyance, hoping to wake him up if he was sleeping.

"_Oy! Holmes! Have you—! "_

The door opened and Mary came out smiling followed by Holmes, they were chatting animatedly.

"—seen my… wife." He stopped in front of them with an incredulous look on his face.

"Top of the morning to you, Watson!" Holmes greeted with a wide smile on his face.

"Good morning dear," Mary said still smiling, "I'm sorry I didn't wake you when I left, Mr. Holmes and I had business to discuss. Were you yelling?"

Watson answered neither of them but stared dumbly with mouth hanging open in confusion.

"Oh dear, you're dressed for travel, I completely forgot about today!"

"What do you _mean_ you _forgot?_" Watson snapped. "I stayed up all night packing on your _insistence_, and now you tell me you forgot?"

Holmes said, waving a finger at him. "Watson, don't talk to your wife like that."

"Don't tell me how to talk to my wife! _You…" _he advanced towards Holmes, "this is all your doing! What did you tell her? What did you _do_ to her?"

"Oh my, this happens when he doesn't get much sleep." She placed her hands on his shoulders, "John dear, calm down, Mr. Holmes has presented me with a wonderful prospect here in the country, he talked to me and convinced me about it and I have decided to postpone our return to London."

Watson's confused look got even more confused. "Until when? For how long? And what about Lizzie? What about London?"

"We'll know the outcome maybe later today, as for Lizzie; I believe her health won't be so weak if she grew up here even for just a year-"

"_A year?"_

"—but please! Let us talk about this later. I have to send the letter yet. I have already set food on the table and have eaten already; I'll go ahead, I must look for the stable boy and have this posted." She waved a freshly written letter in her hand, kissed him on the lips and sauntered off cheerily leaving Holmes with a confused Watson.

"What is all this about?" he touched his lips gingerly.

"I'm not so sure, I'll leave the talking to her, but now I must go back inside, work is calling me."

"No, you stay."

"Watson, I must."

"I insist."

"You and your wife talk strangely the same. Do you rehearse before sleep?" he tried to slip into the open door but Watson grabbed his collar.

"You know how the cold always gets to Gladstone's stomach?" He had a piercing look of satisfaction on his face. "Well I was going to take him to the menagerie today for medication but since I have seven large suitcases to unpack which would take up most of my morning I won't be able to do that."

"Oh, yes, I remember that. So unfortunate, now please release me, let me go-"

"_But!_ Here you are, my dear, dear friend, who has nothing to do for the morning—"

"There is work waiting upstairs—"

"—and I am sure you would _gladly_ take care of the situation for the meantime. Won't you?"

The doctor was considerably taller than Holmes even for a few inches, but by the way he looked down on the detective with wide and vengeful eyes.

It was hard to say no.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: There it is. A considerably shorter chapter. Sorry guys, but I promise Chapter 12 will be longer- _and better!_ I promiiise! Also, Irene will be there again. wehehehe. I changed my genre setting from Humor-Romance to Humor-Adventure since I realized that I won't really be writing a completely lovey dovey story. There is the case after all, but don't worry Sherlene fans, there will be those moments between them. After all, this fic is about the Hound chasing the Fox.**

**Review please! 3**

**-Jacques Sparreaux**


	12. Sniffing Around

**A/N: LOOOOL. I'm feeling quite better now that school seemed to have loosened it's grasp on my neck. And I promised I'd update sooner. This is actually very soon, but I can't wait to get it out there to make up for my crappy chapter 11.**

**And if ever you've read The Sign of Four, you'll find a familiar friend here. ^_^**

* * *

><p><strong>Sniffing Around<strong>

* * *

><p>"Rassumfrassum…"<p>

Holmes grumbled as he sat in the rickety coach on his way to town. Gladstone was swaddled in a blanket on his lap, Watson told him to hold the dog so the bumpy ride won't upset the poor animal and embracing him would ease the cold. Occasionally the dog would hiccup, and squirm with discomfort and unfortunately spit up like a child.

He wanted to toss the bundle out the window.

The menagerie was a little shop that occupied a narrow space yet had a very high ceiling. That was what he could make of it from across the street. Its wide windows were lined with animal related merchandise on one side: boxes of French dog treats for French dogs, a cat grooming set, horse deworming medicine, and various other objects. The other window was lined with cages from top to bottom; canaries and blue jays sang from cages fixed over head of a cage filled with puppies and another with kittens.

He looked down at the basket he was carrying and looked at Gladstone's face peering at him from between the blankets looking very sick. "I thought I only had to deal with you, I forgot you existed in a multitude of breeds…" he said begrudgingly before crossing the street.

As he entered, a brown mongrel leaped out of nowhere and barked incessantly at him. Holmes backed away and realized it was Gladstone that the dog was barking at; he raised the basket with both hands out of reach when the mongrel leaped at it. "Shoo doggy! Shoo!" he tried to shoo it away with his foot. The dog bit his pant leg and pulled.

Holmes found himself pinned to the ground with the mongrel standing on his chest and barking at Gladstone who whimpered helplessly in his basket which he was still holding over his head. The noise troubled the other animals, the puppies began to bark, the cats mewled and the birds twittered noisily.

"Gladstone you pathetic little pup, you are a shame to your ancestors." He grumbled again.

"Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear me my Lord!" a squeaky old voice cried from behind the counter, a small old man with huge glasses came into view. "Toby you bad dog, scaring away customers like that, haven't I taught you manners?" at the old man's ranting, the dog named Toby looked up and walked away head down whining in shame as he went towards his master.

The shopkeeper by the looks of it, scurried towards Holmes as fast as his short legs would carry him, he took the basket and placed it on the counter and helped up the supine detective from the floor.

"I believe that was your dog's way of greeting me welcome." He said as he dusted himself of.

"I am so sorry sir, normally Toby is a well behaved dog, I just don't understand why he attacked you like that." The old man said worriedly.

Don't worry Mr. Molls; I think I'm still intact."

"Oh, you know my name?" he said with a pearly white smile with a few missing teeth.

"This is Molls' Menagerie, is it not? Then I assume you are Molls." Holmes said, the old man was so short he stood up only until Holmes' chest.

"Very well, what can I help you with, sir?"

He pointed at the squirming bundle in the basket.

"By Jove!" Molls exclaimed when he saw Gladstone. "No wonder Toby was all shaken up; there is a little friend in here! And I though it was food." He chuckled. "What seems to be the matter with him, Mr.-? Mr.-?"

"Holmes, Sherlock Holmes."

When he said that, the old man's eyes widened and sparkled and his cheeks blushed ruddy red. "Ah! Sherlock Holmes! Lord Mycroft's younger brother! So pleased I am to meet you!" he shook the detective's hand as hard as his little arms could muster. "Your brother is my benefactor, I must say. Free of charge!"

He scurried back and disappeared behind the counter then he appeared again, apparently stood up on a stool, and inspected poor Gladstone. "My, my, this is a very beautiful specie of a bull terrier! Oh! And he has a cold, the poor thing. Toby!" he whistled, and the mongrel stood up alert. "Quick, fetch the basket!" and the dog was off into a backroom. A few moments later Toby was back carrying a red container basket in his jowls, he stood on his front legs on a stool and placed the basket on a cot beside the counter.

Holmes looked in amazement at what transpired, he's heard of smart dogs, but this one was clever.

Molls transferred the sick Gladstone on the cot and gave him something to eat from the basket then he stirred up a medication from the basket as well and had Gladstone lap it up.

Holmes' curiosity was fixed upon the brown dog that sat attentively by the bedside. He struck up a conversation. "I must say, first impressions are very deceiving. Your dog is a wonderfully clever animal Mr. Molls."

The old man chuckled and continued his work. "Thank you Mr. Holmes, he is a young dog, only a year old, and is very helpful around me, though it pains me that I must leave him along with this establishment."

"Why so?"

"As I have mentioned, your brother is my benefactor, because of him I will be able to live with my daughter and her family across the ocean, and I have sold this shop already, I am merely cherishing my last few days in it. I cannot bring the dog for I know my daughter does not like dogs. It's painful on my part, because I know Toby does not do well with a lot of people. He is detached and shy, although he does like having other dogs around in the family. I'm hoping if only someone would take him and care for him before I leave, the longer he stays with me the harder it is."

While his master was telling his story, Holmes observed that the dog had somehow reflected the emotion and is down on the floor with his head on his paws, looking down trodden.

"He is an efficient little fellow, especially when it comes to looking for lost things, and evasive debtors." He chuckled.

_Queer…_

"Well I guess that's it! You can take him now. He's all ready to go!"

"What?"

"Your pup is now cured Mr. Holmes. You may take him now and have a nice day!"

As he walked out with Gladstone still in the basket, Molls waved him goodbye and Toby wagged his tail. Now that was done with, he might as well use this opportunity in town to clarify the evidence he has gathered for the case, and made his way in search of the Police station.

* * *

><p>It was ironic how the town police forces proudly proclaim their efficiency yet it was easy for him, a civilian, in nondescript clothing with a noisy whiny dog in a basket, to sneak into their filing cupboard without being seeing or apprehended.<p>

The unsolved cases of July last year were alphabetized according to the victim's names and his face fell when there was no Turnstone to be found within the T section.

He froze when there was a scuffle at the door, but sighed in relief as no one came in anyway.

Then maybe he was wrong about the doctor and the sender being brothers, relatives but not brothers, although the death of the second man in the middle of summer did coincide with the police officer's death, there are possibilities that they are brothers and the file is simply not here.

The Special Cases files.

He knew where these things would be found, he had infiltrated Scotland Yard's own filing cupboard a few times without being caught, albeit the Yard had improvements on their performance and security, Holmes still found it easy to work his way in there. The special cases would be in a different room.

When he got there (without being seen as usual) he groaned in frustration, there was no Turnstone among the files either. He would be able to find it by sorting them each by date and looking for the case of an officer's death in the July cases, but that would be too fiddly and time consuming. He sat on the floor in the middle of the square of light from the window. Gladstone, still bundled up in his basket, whined a bit from his place by the door as if sharing his master's frustration. Holmes leaned against the wall for a bit of rest, and was thankful that he did.

He saw the log book that hung from a nail on the door.

He flipped through the pages, the dates ranged back from January of last year, he just needed to find a familiar name on the list and he would find his path once more.

Found it;  
><em>Log outInspector Dorotheo Sachs/ Special Case no. 00048/ 8/23/1896_

Now all he needed was to look for Suck's office.

It wasn't all that hard when you would pretend to be an old cobbler looking for the Inspector bringing with you his newly repaired shoes, with minimal disguise.

In a few minutes, he was sitting 'in wait' for the inspector in his very own office, but he couldn't begin his search, for the young officer that accompanied him there was determined to stay put and 'assist the old man' until the inspector came.

Then he remembered a little trick of Irene's and thought it would be of good use. He coughed and wheezed and hacked loudly, the young man simply looked at him from where he stood. Since that wasn't effective, he pressed one hand heavily on Gladstone's stomach. The dog whined and Holmes accompanied it with even louder hacking.

This time the officer approached him. "Are you alright sir?"

"W—water... _waaaateeeer."_ He managed in his driest voice then he started hyperventilating. The officer rushed out of the room.

Holmes resumed his search, he opened drawers and flicked through files as fast as he could. Sachs proved to be an organized man and Holmes was grateful for he found his query almost right away.

It was a dossier labeled **Meldowney Murders. **

How unfortunate that a lovely estate was to be the namesake of such a bloody case, it only seemed appropriate because these cases appeared to be interrelated. Three cheers to Sachs for thinking so, finally he and Holmes agreed on something.

The cases where arranged in chronological order, he read the report summary of the second case:  
><em>"On the 14<em>_th__ of July, Officer Justin T Lombard…"_

The T would stand for Turnstone, so then they were cousins…

"…_was shot through the forehead at midnight while out on patrol on the corner of Flemming Lane and Artichoke Plaza." _

That was his next destination.

Flemming Lane had a domestic atmosphere that reminded him of Baker Street, while Artichoke Plaza was a busy thoroughfare during the day but would be a wide and empty cobbled avenue by night. He pictured out the scene of how Lombard would have been shot and why he was there if the first place. Holmes spanned the area and his eyes met with a beautiful blue building just at the end of Flemming Lane. It was a hotel and was the only one in the neighborhood. The scene in his mind seemed clearer.

He walked up the receptionist at the lobby counter, and before the receptionist could greet him, "My name is Dorotheo Sachs, I am a plain-clothes detective. I presume you have heard of me?" He said.

The receptionist's face changed from cheery to nervous. "Y-yes of course, sir, w-what is it that we may help you with inspector?"

"I want to see your log for the month of July of last year. It is imperative that I consult it for evidence."

"Yes sir."

July was a fully booked month, considering it was summer. He searched in the check out log on the 22nd of the month. Sure enough, he found what he was looking for; Dr. R. A. Turnstone had checked out just before midnight of July 13th.

If Lombard had been shot just outside on the street hours later, then he was foolish enough to have seen Turnstone off, most probably fetched him a carriage and made sure that he had gone away in safety.

A note would have sufficed but maybe no one could be trusted or there was no time to write, that's why he came personally. Lombard was followed then shot, Turnstone, fearing for his life after receiving the woman's letter, decided to come back and is now under this mysterious patient's control.

Holmes wandered aimlessly through Artichoke Plaza, turning the case again and again inside his head. _Everything is interconnected, the deaths have an explanation, yet most seem vague_. To him, where things seem most unclear, there the best puzzle was to be found. Watson was right, the cocaine does dull his mind, it was harder to think now, and it was harder to know which step to take next…

He collided with something huge. Holmes staggered to retain his balance. _Someone _huge more like it. Holmes looked up to apologize to the man, but his awe got better of him, he had collided into the beefy arm of a tall and wide Asian man. He had a menacing and brutish appearance, from his beady black eyes, his long slick hair pulled into a plait at the back of his neck, to the wolf pelt vest he wore. The sun browned skin of his bare arms which were exposed to the winter air was covered in scars and tattoos. Over all he had a barbaric aura that made Holmes think he should apologize right away.

"Uh…. Gomenasai?"

"That's Nihonggo Mr. Holmes; I thought you'd know that." The familiar country drawl of the one person he wanted to see the least said, "And by the way, Mr. Han Lao here is from China, and speaks fluent English." Sachs appeared beside the man whose arm he patted with familiarity.

"Oh, truly sorry, you see I've never familiarized myself with Mandarin, but an apology and introduction are in order." He handed out his hand to Han, "Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective."

"Han Lao, I am from China as my friend here as already mentioned."

The man was indeed fluent in English; even his accent was flawless that if Holmes closed his eyes he would imagine an Englishman in front of him, primed and fair, rather than this unique persona who came from distant lands.

"I presume Mr. Han, that you are a tradesman and a sailor? Having spent considerable time working in the dry lands of China but later found your passion in sailing the seas. Oriental furniture and décor is much the flavor of England lately, speaking of flavor, I must try some of your oolong and black pekoe tea! I am rather fond of tea at certain days, especially when it is cold." Sherlock Holmes rambled on liberally, enjoying the mounting surprise in the faces of both inspector and sailor.

"I must say Holmes," Sachs was wide eyed, "your observation skills are out of control sometimes, but that was a magnificent analysis of Mr. Han! By Lord tell me how you've come to all that?"

"Very elementary actually, seeing that you're both standing beside a carriage unloading oriental furniture and boxes of tea in front of a stall, and we are in a busy market lane, add to that Mr. Han's origin and you'd arrive with the same conclusions, inspector."

Holmes shrugged his shoulders, he was wasting time here talking to Sachs and needed to be on his way, he was much too busy to even be sarcastic. "It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Han, but I really should be going, Sachs,"

"Oh come on Holmes, I know you and I got off on the wrong foot, but this is the first time I've seen you out in town doing some shopping without looking too serious,"

_Not serious? I just stole into your files without your knowing. Not serious you say..._ he thought to himself.

"So join in for a while, put that shopping basket down," he took the basket without knowing what was inside and set it on the cobblestone street of the plaza, and pulled Holmes towards Han's stall, "and enjoy these wonderful cigars from China!"

It was quite sometime that he had squirmed out of Sachs' grip and looked for Gladstone's basket where Sachs had put it down, beside a bakery stall, snatched it up and made a run for it disappearing into a throng of people.

"First I had to lie about Mr. Barrington's activities then I had to talk Mary into applying for governess. I found her employment yet what does her husband my dear friend repays me with? Taking you to the menagerie!" he strode briskly through town while intending his heated monologues towards the dog. "Well it had its own positive results, but ending it by meeting Sucks was the least I would have expected by just bringing you to town. Why do you bring me so much trouble, Gladstone?" He glanced down at his silent listener and found himself looking at a loaf of bread wrapped in cheese cloth.

Sherlock Holmes stopped dead in his tracks, eyes still wide at the loaf of bread with its golden brown crust.

"Oh why indeed, Gladstone?"

* * *

><p>"<em>WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LOST GLADSTONE?"<em>

They were in the sitting room with Holmes in his favorite chair while Watson fumed in front of him with Mary holding him back to stop him from ripping his friend to pieces.

"It means exactly as I've said it. I. Lost .The. Dog." He didn't meet Watson's eyes and munched down instead on a cinnamon bun from the basket under question.

"I asked you to do something so _very_ simple. Why? Why can't you do it properly?" Watson's voice was almost close to sobbing. He pressed his fingers to his temples and heaved. Mary tried to get him to sit down but he wouldn't. "And _why_ did you bring in this mutt?" he pointed at the brown mongrel that sat beside Holmes' chair.

Holmes instantly perked up. "Oh how foolish of me! I forgot to introduce you to Toby! I got him from the menagerie after I lost Gladstone, thinking that a substitute would be appropriate,"

What he said made Watson's expression only worse. "I hate you so much right now…"

"John, calm down." Mary tried her best to soothe him.

"And _I _feel very much indebted to you as you are my best friend, so here, have a cookie." Holmes handed him one from the basket.

Watson took it and immediately flung it at Holmes and hit him squarely on the forehead to which the other did not protest to. "You will find my dog-"

"-_our_ dog."

"What?"

"Gladstone is _our _dog!"

"JUST FIND THE DAMNED DOG!"

The front bell rang three times. Feeling that the two needed to sort this out by themselves and not wanting to become collateral damage, Mary left to get the door.

"Why can't you just move on? After all Gladstone's what, twelve? Thirteen years old?" Holmes reasoned.

"He's eleven years old, Holmes." Watson still kept his distance, unsure of what he might do to his friend if he was any closer.

"See! Eleven! Dogs usually last up until only twelve years! He'd be dead by next winter!"

The doctor flew at the detective with hands aimed for the neck. There was breaking of things, Toby barked in agitation, a yelling Holmes, and a gnashing Watson.

"Hold yourself together, man!" he bellowed as he dodged a punch. "It's just a dog!"

"It was _my _dog!" and Watson lunged at him again.

"_Our_ dog!"

"Good aft'noon gents!" the sharp cockney accent cut through the ruckus like a knife. Both stopped immediately to look at the visitor. Watson sighed in relief, while Holmes felt every blood in his body rose to his head.

Commissioner Gregory Lestrade stood by the doorway, and with him was the ever young looking and active Inspector Stanley Hopkins.

Lestrade showed himself into the sitting room, "I see that yer both still the same as ever. 'Aven't changed much even in the country side 'ave we?"

He took a seat; Holmes' seat.

"'Opkins, whatche doin' over there boy?" he called to the young officer.

Hopkins walked over to the still surprised figure of Holmes and shook his hand in greeting. "Haven't seen you in a while Mr. Holmes, I was actually very glad that Dr. Watson has wired us to come over here. He mentioned you'll need our assistance."

With that, Holmes turned his head slowly towards Watson with a glare that was returned with another glare.

"It's been a while that I've worked with the great detective Holmes, and I admit that most cases handled personally by myself had not been mentally satisfying as it would with cases that you usually tackle. That is why at the mention of your name by Commissioner Lestrade I immediately volunteered to accompany him."

Lestrade nodded his agreement, "He's right y'know, gents. Personally, I myself didn't necessarily need ter be 'ere,"

"Then why are you?" Holmes said dryly.

Watson made to open his mouth.

"It was a rhetorical question, Watson." Holmes snapped.

Lestrade, used to Holmes attitude towards him, went on, "'Opkins 'imself will be enough to assist you since he isn't handling any cases at present. But of course, as commissioner of Sco'land Yard, a case under the eye of Sherlock Holmes is something worth knowing. As always, it would go into the annals of crime, Mistah Holmes." He gestured towards Watson. "Now can we precede ter yer discussion so I can get back ter London and 'Opkins can start with his investigations."

They settled down as Mary came in with tea. Holmes went over to Lestrade's side.

"That's my spot."

As soon as everyone was seated comfortably (and Holmes in his spot), had a drink in hand, and munched on pastries from the basket (which Watson begrudgingly passed around), Holmes delved quickly and directly into the details. Lestrade listened in attention, and Hopkins scribbled furiously into his notebook. He mentioned all the details from Barrington's story and those they've seen at the murder scene, yet skipped out the more important ones that he had found out about the letters.

There was a time and place for those things to be revealed, and it was not today nor here. With evidence as young as those, it should be told to the right people at the right time, and although Lestrade and Hopkins may be both of Scotland Yard's more efficient officers, Holmes would rather tell his entire plans to the menagerie shop owner than to two of the nosiest inspectors he's known. These two had a confidence within themselves that would drive them to conclude their own stories and theories; they would investigate out of these assumptions and Holmes knew very well that these assumptions take a fork road from his own which was always the more accurate if not exact, truth. `

Yes, he indeed needed their cooperation, but in a way that would make things easier for him, not messier like how Lestrade almost always would if they worked together. Lestrade has the position to manipulate people, imagine the people Holmes could get to work for him if he manipulates Lestrade, that's why he'd take advantage of his presence. Hopkins on the other hand Holmes liked, he was ambitious and eager, and reminded the detective of his younger self. But what imagination the young man had, he lacked in method, and Holmes always tried to help him hone that, albeit unknowingly.

The grandfather clock struck 5 o'clock in the afternoon; they had been discussing the case for an hour.

"Is that the time?" Lestrade said, "Well I've learned a great deal, detective. We must be off now. I'll take into consideration what you've instructed us, I'll be off ter London by the 6 o'clock train and Stanley 'Opkins 'ere will stay in town. Give 'im a wire and 'ed be straight off ter here like a squirrel."

They cordially bade the two officers' goodbye and showed them out the door. When the two were out of earshot, Holmes closed the door and turned to Watson. "You traitorous wretch…"

"I had to do it Holmes, you were distracted."

"_Distracted?_ By what?"

There was a knock on the door and Holmes wrenched it open immediately. "What is it again, Lestrade?" he yelled. But instead of Gregory Lestrade, the pretty face of Irene Adler looked at him in alarm.

"By that…" Watson finished.

Holmes' eyes narrowed at her. "What're _you_ doing here?" He was not to forget the happening in the library the other day and was actually unsure why he feels mad.

Irene returned his glare with her own, apparently she also did not forget. "I believe this is yours?" she pushed a basket in front of Holmes' face and Gladstone popped out from between the blankets, barking happily.

"GLADSTONE!" Watson cried in surprise and shoved Holmes out of the way. He hugged the bull terrier, "oh I was so worried about you, I thought you'd never come back."

"Our housekeeper must've mistaken his basket for her shopping basket. It was fortunate that he recognized me." She patted Gladstone on the head.

Watson ran back into the kitchen with the dog in his arms, "Mary! Elizabeth dear! Gladstone's back!"

Holmes and Adler stared at the comical happening that transpired then it was back to exchanging bad looks.

"I believe I must thank you, now if that is all, you may leave." He made to close the door in her face.

She stuck her foot through the door, "I've come here for Mrs. Mary Watson, I have business to discuss with her over her letter." She waved the letter Mary had written earlier that day and sent to Meldowney. "Lady Myrtle is currently out of town so I took the liberty of calling here."

"And I'll take the liberty of telling her you've accepted, you may leave now-" Holmes tried to shut the door on her foot.

"Ms. Adler?" Holmes jumped when Mary appeared behind him, and before he could do anything, Irene pushed her way past him and greeted Mary and made their way to the sitting room.

He grumbled, but as he made to close the door one last time—

"Mr. Holmes…" the weary voice of Robert Barrington said.

"Lord Barrington?"

In one look, he took in the harried face, the unkempt mustache, and the dark circles around the eyes. The usual vitality of the great man seemed to be stricken with grief. He let the lord in and gestured him into the sitting room along with the others, but Barrington held him back.

"Can we please, take our conversation somewhere else? Preferably the kitchen, and bring Dr. Watson along."

The two sat across the counter from the anxious Lord who paced on the kitchen floor. They offered him a chair but he refused, they offered him brandy, and he refused as well. Watson seemed confused but Holmes knew very well what path their conversation will take, he was excited to know the decision but to respect the man's present condition, he kept his face straight.

"Lord. Barrington, I think it would be better if you went on with what you want to say." He said calmly.

The man paced a few more then he stopped and faced the other two. "Mr. Holmes, I have taken into consideration what you have said to me yesterday afternoon. I have turned it over and over again in my mind for the entire night. I have not slept, I barely ate. Worry is eating away at me every second, but with men like both of you around I realized worrying is futile. Compensation will be made, you will have everything you need at your beck and call—"

"Hang on Lord Barrington," Watson interrupted. "What are you going on about?"

"I have decided to employ you both as Ms. Adler's watch."

"What?"

"Don't be rude Watson, he's still talking." Holmes was smiling ear to ear on the inside right now, this happened sooner than he had expected.

"In light of recent events, the safeties of my family and the people in my estate have truly been compromised, but with you two gentlemen around, my worries are alleviated! Mr. Holmes, I appoint you hereby Ms. Adler's personal bodyguard, and Dr. Watson, her personal physician."

"We accep-." Holmes said bluntly.

"_Hang on! _We do not-"

"Watson, look at the poor man's face." The detective shushed him. "Stress is etched everywhere. Do you want to be the very reason why the safety of everyone in Meldowney to be compromised? I cannot do it all on my own I know. You must be there to help me."

John Watson always knew better, you would if you live with Holmes almost half your life, and right now he did. He knew what Holmes said was true, despite the fact that his friend obviously had ulterior motives, he can't deny the direness of the situation, and if a man as desperate as Barrington would come up to them in a first and last effort for salvation, then he John Watson should know better.

"Gentlemen? I cannot sleep at peace tonight if I do not hear your answers."

Holmes and Watson exchanged a look and faced the man together.

"We accept."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yes Stardust, you were right. Holmes wants to station himself by Irene's bedside. XDDDD**

**Anyone familiar with STANLEY HOPKINS? He's one of Holmes' favorite Scotland Yard Inspectors in the books. I find him a funny man sometimes. He can be a bit like Lestrade when it comes to confidence but atleast he can take a lesson or two from Holmes. Speaking of, as you've noticed I've promoted Lestrade, and I'd figure Holmes would agree to it as well. Lestrade can be a bumbling fool of an inspector, but Holmes regards his discipline and dedication, he has a bit of talent too. Lestrade has learned how to work with Holmes and his strange ways that he has come to respect the detective and vice versa. If Holmes were to appoint the commissioner of Scotland Yard, I believe he'd choose Lestrade, not to mention his experience in the crime scene.**

**And Toby, anyone familiar with Toby? Holmes calls him doggy in the book. XD  
>I had fun writing this chapter. Dear readers, I will leave you to your speculations about the case, feel free to comment your opinions. :D<strong>

**Thank You!**

**-Jacques Sparreaux**


	13. Hound of the Barringtons

**A/N: 5640 words because I love you guys. School's a bit hectic lately. Just finished with my preliminary exams. **

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><p><strong>Hound of the Barringtons<strong>

* * *

><p>Entry by John Watson<br>January 8th, 1897

I perceive that I am one of the most suffering of mortals to be alive now in this world. If I were asked to describe in a sentence to anyone asking how it is to be working with Sherlock Holmes, I would say that he proves a tiring friend for anyone who could survive his company for a week.

I have been his friend for fifteen years.

When I was a younger man and upon meeting Holmes, I felt deeply honored and the sense of duty dormant in me since my warring times has been awakened. I am to help the greatest detective on the face of God's earth to solve crimes. The repercussions had not presented themselves earlier and I am thrown into a maelstrom of uncertain and perilous events, but I am grateful that I am still alive to document all these.

Yet again, another case has presented itself, and I do not know until how long I would survive this, especially since my friend not only battles the unexpected, but also battles his heart. And when it comes to the heart, Holmes is like a curious child poking a sleeping Bengal Tiger.

Speaking of wild exotic beasts…

Irene Adler was not a happy woman when she knew we'd been employed for her protection. She opposed her fiancé's decision and protested like an adolescent disagreeing towards her father's over protectiveness. In fact she sounded like a child when she did so. This was the topic between my friend and I on the first day of our job while we waited in the sitting room outside of Robert Barrington's study.

"Listen to her, troubling the poor man with her petty dilemma when he's only concerned for her safety." Holmes said. "Why can't she just accept the fact that there are no better people to protect her?"

"I'd protest too if I were in her shoes." I yawned and Holmes glared at me.

"How long do you wager it would last?" He said; changing the topic.

"What are we wagering on?"

"Their marriage, _if_ they do get married."

I was flabbergasted at his nerve to say such. "_Holmes,_ this is not the place and time to talk about that. Besides, be kind to Lord Barrington, he's a nice man."

"_Exactly _why I wager it wouldn't last. I mean, listen to that, she's bickering with him like a child! Imagine when they get married, consider the disparity between their ages; now consider the disparity between their wisdom."

"Now that you have mentioned it," I leaned in a bit closer to the door to hear the ongoing tirade of The Woman inside the study, "he does seem a little old for her and could easily be her father's age…"

"He is…" Holmes replied. Not that he would know, and if he did, not something I would want to know.

After a while of waiting, the couple shared to us what they had agreed on and Ms. Adler was indeed a woman to reckon with. Although she cannot undo our employment, she had wormed her way into a comfortable arrangement and she was apparently content with it. She agreed to Holmes' being her bodyguard and to me as her physician, but as it is natural with Ms. Adler, everything comes with a catch.

1 Holmes is only limited to accompanying Irene when she is without the premises of the manor.

2 He is greatly required when she visits town, when she visits the estate hamlet and the farther reaches of Meldowney Estate, and basically anywhere outside the estate.

3 He is to oversee her safety especially when Barrington is not around.

4 He is suggested to accompany her during her strolls within the mansion gardens but it is not compulsory for she will be with her chaperone.

5 He is very much welcome to stand by her in the sitting room, the drawing room, the library and by the dinner table, but he is restricted from the upper West Wing of the manor where all the ladies of the house reside.

Although his duties by her are limited, it is essential that he remains within estate premises and around her for the entire day and patrol around the mansion if he must. By nightfall he is to go home and be back the next day by sunrise. On my part, I am not as needed as Holmes, yet it is suggested that I be around incase anything comes up. I agreed gladly since Mary too would be in the mansion being a tutor for the three sisters and her presence would make my employment there easier.

(And yes, the mounting frustration on Holmes' face of how his plans had been thwarted yet again by Irene is truly an amusing sight.)

Such were the regulations imposed upon us by The Woman. Barrington agreed, happiness showing on his strong face. It was a win-win situation for them both. But as I know my friend too well, Irene had once again found a way to squirm out of his vice grip and he did not like that, and as I stood by his side as we listened to the couple, I saw every muscle in his face twitch slowly.

Holmes had no way of changing Barrington's mind, not yet, and I am inclined to think that we would have a rather commonplace, if not less than chaotic, employment within the estate for a while…

End of Entry

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><p>Entry by John Watson<p>

January 22th, 1897

Tonight would mark a fortnight since we have been engaged in Meldowney. To say little of the experience, I very much enjoyed the time spent. It had not turned out as I had expected; Holmes wreaking havoc in the place, but instead it had been peaceful and on certain days had been quite surprisingly mundane.

As acting physician of Ms. Adler, I had not much to do with her since the woman was fit and did not have trouble with her health. But Meldowney estate had numerous residents of different types and occupation, and being the lone experienced city doctor within reach; I was a walking medical mission. Day in day out, as Mary, Holmes and I arrive at the mansion in the morning, Mary would make her way to the library, Holmes would have his duties, and I would be called on by Heather Village's residents to overlook their ailments.

Broken limbs, an upset stomach, sleep walking, and migraines, to name a few. Also, I had taught the women and elders a few basic medical procedures for future use. I believe that in those few days, I had made the estate a far healthier and smarter place than it was before. Although if I had enjoyed and made use of my time very well, I don't think the same could be said for my friend.

Like mentioned before, Irene Adler was indeed a woman to reckon with. As much as Holmes made to look for loop holes in the rules she set up, it was flawless and smooth as silk. The woman rarely ever went out, and if she did, it meant visiting town. But if she could avoid it, she would have someone do it for her instead. She had a few routines within the home; first came breakfast, then she would take a walk in the rose garden then she would sit in the library and read while Mary tutored the triplets. Around midday, she would read to the girls or teach them to sing; sometimes I fancied bringing Elizabeth to learn from her too. (Something Holmes strongly disagreed too.) This leisurely and silent living had also developed quite a friendship between my wife and her, something rather uncalled for but convenient.

The afternoon after lunch was Holmes' most dreaded part of the day, Irene would retreat back to her rooms in the West Wing, and as tradition within the family had gone for generations; the West Wing was the Women's Wing, and even the servants assigned there were women. Men were forbidden to cross the threshold leading to it, and as the gentleman that he truly is; Holmes is restrained by his own gallantry. By tea time, only then will Irene emerge again until dinner.

Those four hours of investigatory limbo were the most tormenting to his buzzing mind. It was normal for me to see Holmes sit down and stay motionless for hours, but to know him meant to be able to differentiate when he was indeed stationary and deep in thought from when he was suffering a frozen state of unrest. The latter I had witnessed so often these days. Sometimes he would disappear for the entire afternoon, and I would only hear snippets from the stable boys or the estate's border guard that they had seen a lone figure prowling around the lands on afternoons, wearing thick outdoor clothing and the unmistakable figure of a pipe in his hand…

If the day was tormenting to him, then the night tormented me and the rest of the Holmes household. He would lock himself up nightly in his tower and smoke for hours. Sometimes I believe he doesn't sleep at all; sometimes there will be long silences that would trigger me to knock on his door and be greeted by something that cannot be unseen.

(I will not specify that here for I fear that if this entry falls into the wrong hands, my colleague's reputation might go asunder)

If the fancy catches him, he'd play German pieces on his violin hours on end. The dreadful part would be him coming down stairs to the drawing room and play on the grand piano during ungodly hours just to have something to do.

Despite these, I've relished the past couple of weeks, though I know this ideal point in time will not last too long for the bubble of frustration had blown up too large within my friend and it won't be a while till it pops. I am retiring for the night as I write this down and may this entry be evidence that there was once a peaceful pause in the middle of a very tumultuous case.

End of Entry

* * *

><p>Holmes had been dozing off on an armchair when his silence was disturbed by the sound of shattering pottery. Lavender, the timid sister, had clumsily upset the paintbrush pot with her cumbersome bustle scattering clay fragments and paintbrushes of all sizes across the room.<p>

"Oh my, oh my, I am truly sorry. Forgive me Mrs. Watson! I wasn't careful!" she hastily got down on her knees and collected the strewn items knocking down her easel with her huge bustle in the process. It was a lovely afternoon and the triplets had a painting session with Mary (who turned out to be a remarkable artist, not that Holmes would admit) in the second floor drawing room and he, having nothing to do, fell asleep on a chair while observing them.

"Oh, for heaven's sake Lola, be more careful won't you?" her identical twin, Lottie, said. "Now look what you've done, you've disturbed our subject." She said sourly. As it turned out, he had been in such a perfect state of rest that Mary had them draw him. While the submissive sister was being reprimanded by the assertive one, Terry and Mary simply sighed and proceeded to finish their work as he was kind (or bored) enough to resume his position.

Robert Barrington walked into the drawing room with a smile on his face and Holmes quickly stood up to greet him.

"Good afternoon sir, I see you're back early from errands."

"Yes, a good afternoon it is, great in fact!" He said, his voice booming with happiness. "You see Mr. Holmes, while I was in town settling business, I realized how the sun shines more brightly today than it ever has this winter, and thus I've decided to come home earlier than usual."

"You're planning an occasion sir, and you've just finished sending out invitations for it and have scalded yourself in the process."

"What? But how- why, yes! But how did you know?" the man staggered.

"You have a few fresh inkblots on your left hand which is your preferred handedness and your finger appears to have recently suffered a small burn, hot wax maybe for the letters' seal. Might I suggest you show that to the doctor?" He heard Terry giggle lightly from behind.

"Ah, I cannot keep anything from you, can I Mr. Holmes?" Barrington simply smiled in amusement, "and yes, you are quite correct, I have planned an occasion, and speaking of the doctor, where is the man? He would truly like to come in a gathering such as for tomorrow."

"Which is what precisely sir?"

"I know you've observed the friendlier weather outside, and I am certain it would even be better tomorrow, so I have invited friends over to join me in a winter hunt."

"Interesting notion, I have observed an increase of deer population within the estate woods, although I do not hunt myself, Watson is an avid shooter."

He heard Mary dropped her brush.

"That's very good then, I'm sure he'd be able to loosen up since he is very busy with the village folk lately." Barrington said. "And also, I am not entirely looking forward to a very huge game, but to enjoy the sun for sometime. It is indeed out, and it would be nice to warm up under it outdoors and take a break from all this work and the children from their studying. It would be a stroll and picnic for the ladies," he smiled over to the busy painters at the other side of the room, "and a hunting activity for us men. Oh, and also as a common enjoyment factor, I have required that each must bring a canine friend, may they be born hunters or not."

The man rambled on with his plans for tomorrow while Holmes thought of how he was to take advantage of the activity. Irene will have no choice but to join them, and as stated within her rules, he was to accompany her when she is without the manor premises. The woods are quite large, and if she was indeed to hunt along with the men (she wasn't the type to sit in snotty little tea party picnics), then Barrington will want him to accompany her.

Tomorrow couldn't have come fast enough, and when they arrived in front of the mansion the very next day, Holmes jumped out almost too eagerly before the carriage had even stopped, followed by his canine companion for the day; Toby.

"I was going to say _'please don't jump'_ but it seems too late." Watson sighed as he assisted his family off the vehicle with Gladstone.

They were greeted by Chives at the door and were led to the Rose Garden where some familiar people had gathered already in the gazebo. Holmes quickly recognized the black habit of Parson Merryweather and the stout, round shape of Osmond. The parson had a beagle trailing quietly behind his heels, while Osmond had an expensive looking grey hound on a leash standing proudly. They smiled and greeted the Watson family as they approached, Osmond shook Holmes' hand vigorously but the parson simply gave him a curt nod.

As the rest chatted behind him in wait, Holmes stood apart from their group on the other side of the gazebo. It was indeed sunny for a winter day. The ground was still covered with snow and most trees were still bare, but the sun shone brightly in the morning sky. Holmes was brought out of his musings when he saw The Woman descend from the steps of the garden terrace towards their direction.

She looked like a walking blood bath in the snow. Her bustled riding habit and cape were in a ridiculous shade of red matched by a felt wide-brimmed hat littered with fabric roses, and in her arms were a pair of bichon frise pups while a black French poodle trotted after her. He saw her see him from under her brim, and her red lips curled into a smile.

The others had seen her approach too, and the gentlemen stood up to kiss her hand. Holmes simply stayed where he stood. Mary kissed her cheek cordially and so did Elizabeth. As the two women stood side by side, the difference between them were black and white; Irene with her dark hair and stark appearance, and fair-haired Mary in her delicate periwinkle dress.

"Out to hunt with those fuzz balls Ms. Adler?" He mocked her as he came near with Toby, obviously showing off his better hunting dog, "I'm afraid you won't be able to catch even a stray rabbit."

"Good morning to you too, Mr. Holmes," Irene smiled, "and no, these darlings aren't mine." She set the pair of dogs on the floor beside the poodle. "The triplets are still preparing so I brought down their dogs for them."

As if on cue, Lady Myrtle appeared on the terrace with her daughters and they descended the steps in single file, taking small steps and holding up their skirts from the snow.

"My canine companion will be here in a while." Irene continued. "Speaking of, please tell your dog to stop that."

He looked down and saw Toby sniffing the poodle's backside. "Shoo Toby! Shoo!"

"Sherlock," she said.

"What."

"Take a stroll with me won't you, while we wait for the others?"

He could have sworn she just fluttered her eyelashes at him from under her hat. "I thought you need your chaperone for that."

_What are you thinking man? Say YES! _

She smiled at him then she placed her hand lightly on his arm. "My chappy's a dull woman, and please, I know you miss me."

"I saw you yesterday Ms. Adler, and besides, Ms. Purple is approaching, there is something I wanted to talk to her a— _YOW!_ "

Irene pinched his arm hard.

She strolled in the rose gardens with him following behind like a puppy, his brow furrowed and a hand to his still sore arm. When she said he missed her, he knew she meant more other than seeing each other around the mansion on a daily basis. They had been walking in silence for quite sometime in what Holmes had recognized as a maze garden, and they had passed the same spot five times. She forced him to take this walk with her, something he wasn't able to do the past two weeks because of her expert avoidance, now he was here.

_What is she playing at?_

"What are you playing at?" She turned around, her face and voice serious.

He had to admit he was caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

"What do you _mean _'what do I _mean'?"_ Irene's voice pitched. "You're the one here persistently stationing yourself near me and my fiancé's peaceful living and you ask me what do I mean?" her cheeks slowly matched the color of her dress. "What are you planning Sherlock? What's going on?"

His tongue seemed to have dried up then and there…

"Irene…"

He reached out to her hand.

"What? Tell me!" her eyes bored into his, searching, angry… He grasped her hand tighter, not really sure what was going on…

"Lord Barrington had just arrived with Young Master Barrington." Chives' courtly voice said behind them, and following the butler from behind was Watson who sharply eyed Holmes' and Irene's linked hands.

The walk back to the gazebo was silent accompanied only by Watson's frequent shooting of dagger stares at him, Chives lead the way back while Irene had already ran ahead. Holmes was still uneasy by the confrontation that just occurred, Irene had sensed his plans but the way she retaliated was not of one who was guilty…

The gazebo was a little more crowded when they got back, there were two more additional people; Barrington and Alfred, and out on the garden the stable boys readied ten horses; six were individually saddled while the other four were yoked to a huge open landau. Not satisfied by what has been said between them, Holmes still wanted to talk to Adler but since her arm was linked with her fiancé's, he approached the younger Barrington instead who was engaged in a lively conversation with his cousin Wisteria.

"Alfred! Good to see you lad, how is the winter in university?" he shook the young man's hand.

"A tad bit warmer than over here detective, but I did look forward to coming home even for a while, I've heard about the incident a few weeks ago and I couldn't help but worry, especially for this _child" _he ruffled up Terry's coif teasingly.

"Hey! Don't, those take Lola and Lottie _ages_ to put up!" she protested laughingly.

Seeing that he did not have a place in their conversation, Holmes went over to Watson, the doctor was admiring a roan horse, and though he find the animals antagonistic, this was better than adolescent foolery.

"You're being careless you know that," Watson whispered.

"No, I don't think so; in fact I believe this horse won't hurt me at all."

"No, not with the animal, you're being careless with you feelings, with your _heart."_

"What heart?"

"Oh, so sorry, forgot you didn't have one." Watson said dryly. "By the way whatever you have in that chest of yours, control it because she's coming this way…"

Irene approached them, but this time ignored Holmes, she stroked the horse's muzzle and fed her a sugar lump. "You found my dear Cinnamon interesting, doctor?"

"Well she is a beautiful specie. Are you joining the hunt Ms. Adler?"

Irene nodded.

"Then where is your hunting companion?"

She smiled, then pulled out a silver whistle that hung around her neck from under her collar, she blew but no sound came, although Gladstone who was at Watson's feet, whimpered and barked. Nothing happened for a few seconds, then the horses started to whiny, some stomped, and all the dogs started whimpering and yelped…

"Umm… I don't quite understand…" Watson said.

"Dr. Watson, Sherlock, I'd like you to meet,"

She stepped aside and revealed behind her skirts a huge grey creature with yellow eyes.

"Beast…"

Holmes stood frozen to his spot.

He tolerated dogs, but wolves, huge hell hounds or monstrous _Beasts_ were a different matter. He had enough experience with Hell Hounds and family problem cases already, this wolf simply reminded him of a certain horrid one. Watson stared wide eyed and quickly lifted Gladstone from the ground into his arms. Both were speechless, and both did not want to run, lest the thing runs after them.

"Oy! You called him out!" Alfred called from the gazebo; he ran happily towards the wolf and embraced the creature around the neck. "Beastie, I missed my Beastie." He baby-talked and the wolf licked his face. Both men raised eyebrows at the sight.

"Alfred, kindly explain to these men all about Beast." Irene smiled gloatingly.

The young man laughed, "Look at your faces gentlemen, don't be scared, Beast it harmless."

"Yes, of course implied by its name." Holmes said.

"No, really Mr. Holmes, Beast is a young wolf dog, his mother was a hunting hound of father's and his father was a wolf." Alfred smiled, "when he was born three years ago, I took the responsibility of taking care of him. When we met Ms. Adler, I presented him as a gift and she has taken care of him for me ever since I went to Camford."

"Rather odd that I've never seen the creature around the stables though." Watson said, still keeping his distance.

"About that," Irene interrupted, "I let him loose on the grounds, he is familiar with the people of the estate and they with him. I only call when needed." She fingered the silver dog whistle that hung from her neck.

"Oh, it seems we'll be riding out now." Alfred said, the other men had taken to their horses and began mounting, their dogs stationing in front of the horses. "Doctor Watson, I believe you've been assigned a horse, the black one beside Parson's." Then he mounted his own horse beside Adler's and started off.

Irene turned to Holmes. "Sherlock, would you be so kind to help me up?"

Uneasy as he was right now, he did. _Damn his chivalry_. And when Irene swung her leg over the horse to ride full saddle, Holmes and Watson caught a glimpse of riding breeches beneath all her petticoats, they smirked at each other.

Typical Irene.

The rest of the morning went swimmingly for the hunters. Even in the winter, they had caught five adult hares, and a young stag. The dogs frolicked and ran along side each other, and the hunters laughed and sang as their horses trotted side by side.

Holmes didn't join the merriment.

There were only six saddled horses. How did he not see that, maybe because he only counted the gentlemen and excluded Adler?

Mycroft, who had to go back to London, had informed Barrington earlier about his brother's avoidance to horseback riding and that _Sherley_ once had a traumatic experience with the creatures. He did not know whether to thank or to smite his brother, for now he was seated in the open landau along with the other ladies.

He pays his price by sitting in the white ornate picnic carriage between Mary (with Lizzie on her lap) and Terry on the other side, across the landau sat Lady Myrtle between the twins. Even the ladies seemed to think this was an awkward situation. Normally, this would call for gossip and chatter, but since a man sat in between, everyone stayed quite and simply exchanged awkward smiles.

Not only was he separated from Watson, he was nowhere near his charge, Adler, as well. He tried to argue this out with Barrington, but the man being so concerned and genuinely caring, did not want to jeopardize Holmes' life.

By lunch time, the group stopped under a canopy of oak trees beside a brook. A carpeted tent set up was prepared there for their comfortable picnic, there was a dining table and chairs, Chives and the servants prepared the spit and roasted the game. As lunch progressed, the men shared how they had shot, and trapped their catch, or how their dog had mauled the prey.

Holmes simply hid his envy.

"I say; since we'll be resuming our activity this afternoon, let's make it livelier!" Osmond declared while they sat and rested, after a lunch of hare stew and roasted venison, on the carpets and cushions under the tent.

Watson, who had thoroughly enjoyed the morning hunt, propped himself up on a cushion, interested, "What do you suggest Osmond?"

"Yes, well hunting in packs is quite productive. But we aren't hunting to feed a village, are we?"

The others nodded.

"So I say we should have a contest! We each hunt alone with our own dog, and the one who catches the most, or the biggest game by evening shall win!" he stated cheerily.

"Hmmm… sounds quite exciting, but what does the winner get?" Alfred asked.

"Anything the winner wants," Osmond laughed, "sponsored by me of course."

Barrington pushed himself up from his cushion, "Then a challenge it is! I accept! Do you, gentlemen?"

Holmes noticed the rest said aye except for the parson, and when the hunting party had set off, Holmes approached him. "Not interested I see, father."

The old man looked at him with knowing eyes, "Oh, very interested actually, but my stature prevents me from joining such. I do not gamble my son, nor enter competition for the prize."

"Very well, I understand what you mean," the man had a point, so Holmes did not press on, instead he asked.

"So can I use your horse?"

* * *

><p>Meldowney Estate was a vast land of varied terrains. Holmes, with Toby leading the way, had galloped over two miles of forested hills; snowed up farm lands and meadows and crossed a few streams but still had not found Irene. No matter, Toby was persistently following her scent and the parson's chestnut stallion was an untiring beast and no time had been wasted. He had passed Watson's and Gladstone's trail and was tempted to follow and drag the doctor along, but Watson's prying was getting intrusive to his plans and thought better of it.<p>

Toby suddenly stopped by a clearing in the pinewoods; Holmes dismounted right away, and followed the snooping dog. Through the bushes and needles, there indeed behind the foliage was his crimson target. His current position reminded him of a brown hound stalking a red fox.

Irene was sitting on a mat on the ground and combing her hair, her roan horse was resting on the ground behind her as well. This was an odd sight to see during a hunting contest, unless….

His suspicion was confirmed when the huge wolf dog bounded from behind the trees with a dead hare in his jowls, it dropped the game onto a pile of dead hares and birds beside Irene and disappeared into the trees once again.

_Ingenious, she let the wolf do the hunting while she sat and groomed herself. How clever of her. _

Something growled behind him. He turned and cold sweat broke on his brow.

"… Hello Beastie…"

"Why do you have to sneak up on me?" Irene said when she pulled off the barking wolf hybrid off Holmes's chest. "You very well know you could approach me."

"I wasn't sneaking." He got up off the forest floor.

"Then what were you doing?"

"I was… Observing your technique…"

"That's pretty much the same."

"It's not."

"Whatever Sherlock." She just chuckled. Irene went back to fixing her hair; she looped and spun her locks into a bun.

"You know this could be counted as cheating. You're not hunting, your pet is. You just collect the game."

"Well no one really has to know right." She winked.

It was marvelous how the Woman could change her temperament in a matter of hours towards him. Their earlier confrontation met no conclusion yet, but her she was standing in front of him, teasing as always.

"I will tell no one unless…"

"Unless what?" she slipped the last bejeweled hairpin into her bun.

"Unless you hunt against me, horse and gun, no hound." He tapped the shotgun strapped to his horse's saddle.

"Seems like a fun challenge. Okay, I think I have time for this." She stirred up her horse and rummaged through her bag, "although, I don't have a gun."

"What? Seriously, you go to war without a weapon?"

"I have these,"

She flicked her hand at him; something buzzed past his ear and wedged itself onto the tree behind. It was a stiletto knife, and she had four more in her hands.

"I hope they will do."

They agreed on hunting an adult doe, the mother of the fawn they had for lunch earlier. Holmes had seen its tracks in the snow, and now he was following it. He had to admit it was harder to hunt without Toby's help and the snow was everywhere making the entire place a canvas of white. Irene had gone off in a different direction but sometimes he'd see glimpses of her red dress between dark tree trunks, she was also hot on the track.

It was nearly dark and Holmes was on relatively higher ground now, on top of the hill he could see nothing and everything; he could see nothing of the doe, but everything that Adler was doing, and when he saw her kick up her horse into a gallop, he made a run for it.

Their paths met and indeed in front of them, running for its life, was the doe. Irene had already thrown two of her knives but missed, Holmes didn't dare shoot just yet; the discharge would further startle the doe and only make it run faster. Their chase ascended onto a hill, and Holmes' horse was faster and more agile.

He was near.

Just a bit more and shooting will be very easy.

_Almost there…_

Irene overtook him.

He saw her slip out one knife; it flew and struck the animal in the thigh. Still the doe kept running, even on a limping gait.

_No! _

This should be his kill. Slowly he over took her, and did something surprising even himself.

He lunged and tackled the doe to the ground.

Irene was shocked too that she halted immediately and looked with horror and surprise at Holmes with the struggling doe in his limbs.

"Hah! I beat you to it!" he yelled as he rolled with the animal on the ground.

"Yes, you did, but who looks stupid now?"

"Doesn't matter, I wo—"

_CRACK_

The doe had struck him on the head with its hind hooves, and the unconscious Sherlock Holmes rolled down the steep hillside covered in thorny shrubbery straight into the frozen stream at the foot of the hill.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: No, he's not dead. Don't worry. XD**

**Till next time guys!**

**-Jacques Sparreaux**


	14. Cherry Bomb

**Cherry Bomb**

* * *

><p>"How <em>stupid<em> do you have to be to do something so- so—_STUPID?!"_

Watson was furious and yelling. Holmes was sick and yelled at, and Mary was once again stuck in the middle (if you don't count the maid standing awkwardly at the corner of the room.)

"John dear, not too loud, Elizabeth is asleep already." She said as she patted Holmes' head dry with a towel.

Watson had been watching out for his prey by the hill when he saw Holmes roll down the hillside straight into the cold stream. His first impression when he saw Adler at the top was that she pushed him to his death, but realized otherwise when she hastily made her way, screaming and panicking, down the thorny hill to Holmes' aid.

He was unconscious when they had pulled him out, and woke up an hour later on the warm bed of a Meldowney guestroom. He had a concussion and a raging fever, add to that are a sprained ankle, scratches and bruises, and one rather long gash on the forehead where the doe had knocked him out that Watson had to stitch.

The cheery weather of the day was substituted by a blizzard that night and there was no way they could go home. Barrington would not let them go until he sees Holmes is well and set rooms for him and another for the Watsons. Everything was provided for, new clothes, medicine, a personal maid, and of course, a hot meal. He ate in front of the fire yet he shivered even as he took his scalding soup, and his feet submerged in a hot bath.

He had never felt more cared for in his life, Watson stood over him cleaning another wound on his shoulder, Mary stood on the other side brushing his hair dry, and the maid putting out food in front of him.

This is where he finds himself being yelled at by his doctor, slash best friend, slash brother, slash chronographer, slash guardian, slash insanity-checker, slash partner in crime-solving, slash ever-enduring-but-not-always-understanding; Watson.

"There were seventeen ways you could have caught that deer without getting yourself bloodied."

"Eighteen actually."

"But you chose the one that gets you clobbered and nearly drowned. Seriously, are you doing all this to impress Ms. Adler?"

"Ms. _Adler?"_ Mary looked at her husband, "What do you mean to _impress_ Ms. Adler?" Mary looked from one man to the other.

Holmes glared at Watson, and all three looked at the maid who had her back turned and was stoking the fire, just incase she was listening.

Mary bent down into a whisper, "Are you telling me Mr. Holmes," she put her face near his, "that you and Irene—"

He sneezed at her.

"-!"

"Oh by good-dess! I'b so sorry Bary dear!" he apologized as much as he could with a congested nose. Mary just stood there, in shock, face spattered with mucus and saliva.

"Oooh… It's—it's _fine_! I—I'll go and… uh… I'll clean up now…" she said, her voice unnaturally high, and made her way out the room.

Watson just stood there watching his wife leave, mouth hanging. "You did that on purpose you hound."

"Bediev be Watsod, I tried to hold it id."

"You're insufferable, you know that?" he packed away his portmanteau, "Now I'm going to have to convince her that she doesn't have influenza." He went to the maid, "Be sure to feed the fire and put out the lamps, and take out the bed warmer before he goes to sleep, or else his toes will get toast, although I won't mind if you don't."

The maid replied with a small Scottish "yessir"

"Thank you." He turned to Holmes. "Get some sleep; your fever will hopefully be down by morning." And he was off to his room.

Holmes finished his soup despite his scalded tongue and proceeded with the rest of his dinner as the maid ran around the room doing her tasks. He sat there and watched her small frame flit from corner to corner, fixing up Holmes' things, putting away his now cold foot bath, his food tray, and making his bed.

"Dell be, whed you wooked for Boriarty, wud being his lidul housekeepuh part of your resube?"

"Pardon sir?"

Holmes hacked then cleared his throat, "you know very well what I said, Irene."

The maid, adjusting the pillows on Holmes' bed, smiled. "I did have a lot of tidying up to do after him although we've never really met officially then, but mutilated carcasses and scattered human organs aren't usually on regular chamber maids' resumes. I could make a place look from freshly abandoned slaughter house into the Queen's sitting room, so I'd say I'm over qualified." She plopped down on the newly maid bed and pulled off her starched maid bonnet; her hair tumbled down her shoulders.

"Take those clothes off Irene."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well I am just saying servant clothes don't fit a woman the level of your deviltry." This topic was too risky. "Anyhow, I believe you've won the hunt then."

"Yes and a thank you are in order. Mr. Osmond was very kind to let me hold my request for now, I'm not quite sure what I want yet since I am very well provided for."

"Then you must be here to gloat." Somehow he was hoping she wasn't.

"No actually." She looked at him with a warm gaze.

_Then why?_

"I wanted to see if you're..."

_I'm what?_

"…if you're okay…"

_Never better._

"…and I guess you are."

"Then this concludes your visit then."

She chuckled and walked up to him in her slow swaying gait, running her fingers through her hair and loosening her apron. Holmes sat unmoving from his place as she came nearer, and when she sat down on his lap, he realized he hadn't exhaled for a while. The Woman sat there playing with his hair and looked at him with her grey eyes. She had an innocent child like stare that with a slight tilt of her head and pout of her lips, men of all statures would kneel and beg for her mercy. She tried that with him right now, but knowing her too well, that did not affect him at all. He wasn't even affected by her proximity.

He was affected by her. Always by her.

Nothing was said between them for what seemed like the longest time and Holmes felt his fever rise. Another one of her petty games he presumes. Just to unnerve the great detective, just to check if he was still under her spell. He wasn't.

_He was_

After what felt like eternity, Irene cupped his face and brought it nearer to hers. His eyelids fluttered shut automatically but it took him total self control to resist embracing her.

Their foreheads touched…

Their noses touched…

He was breathing in what she breathed out…

"Stay away from me."

_What_?

"Please, stay away from me, from Robert."

He opened his eyes and saw the innocent silver orbs have been replaced by angry steel ones. The soft touch turned into a cold grasp.

"Please..."

With that she walked out of the room into the dark corridor outside.

The weather seemed friendlier by morning the next day and Watson wasted no time arranging their travel home. He didn't want his friend staying too long here since he was still sick and the probability of more stupid incidents to happen was high. Barrington and Irene saw them out of the mansion, and as Watson exchanged words of thanks to the Lord for his hospitality and letting the three of them have a day off, Holmes sat across Mary and Elizabeth inside the carriage.

Mary was looking at him with a blank stare for sometime.

"What?" he said.

She said nothing but shifted her gaze to Irene standing outside, then back to him.

"What is it, Mary _dear?" _

She still said nothing repeated what she did.

"I presume your husband has told you what ought not to be told."

"No."

"No?"

"My husband does not tell me anything beyond my business. That is that, although it is beyond my propriety to spy upon other people's liaisons, especially at night, but circumstances are," she glanced back outside to Irene, "I just happen to walk by an open door."

His blood boiled, if this woman wasn't married to Watson, he'd have her as an experiment subject.

"But don't worry Mr. Holmes, I do not gossip, nor do I intervene with other people's…. _affairs. _Although of course I might let it _slip_ somehow."

He clenched his fists. Not even Watson dared to threaten him with the slightest hint of blackmail, but Mary was always taciturn towards him, and he was never quite sure what she was thinking. _Blackmail…_ She learns fast.

"Hello there Elizabeth dear," Irene appeared outside the carriage window, her smile directed to the four year old.

"Oh won't you look at that." Mary teased.

"Hmmm? Look at what Mrs. Watson?" Irene replied.

Mary looked at the scowl on Holmes's face and a smirk played on hers. "It was nothing Ms. Adler, I just realized now that you and Elizabeth share the same name, although your stage name. Funny, don't you think so Mr. Holmes?" She stroked her daughter's hair.

"After a month, you just realized that now?" Holmes snapped. Mary just smirked.

Irene, who simply avoided looking at Holmes, just said. "Yes well, I believe the name does suite beautiful women and girls." She smiled at Elizabeth.

"Such a horrid name." Holmes muttered under his breath.

Needles to say, he avoided Mary as much as he could when they got home. The Lady was on to something and Holmes found it very annoying, he had so much on his mind, he could not afford disturbances.

He did actually intend to get injured yesterday during the hunt. Event etiquette dictates when a guest is injured during an occasion held by the host, it is customary for the guest to be retained within the household for treatment and care and leave only when one is well. So as far as he was concerned, falling over rough terrain and into a freezing stream was enough to give him a bearable cold, and for the time he could fake his illness further to continue what he wanted to do.

What he did not expect was to get knocked out by the deer and his plans once again thwarted by Watson. _The _Watsons. There were three of them now and the two were getting on his nerves. And then there was Irene being difficult and unpredictable as always.

Holmes locked himself in his tower out of habit, it was the only place Mary Watson won't be able go near him. Within the old circular walls he found peace, he found thinking easier to do. Although Holmes cannot help but notice the nagging feeling that he had forgotten something very important.

"Mr. Holmes?" Stanley the butler's croaky old voice floated from the stairwell bellow. "I have a telegram from Inspector Hopkins sir, he deems important that you read it."

Apparently he did forget something.

* * *

><p>"What did you say the name of the place was?" he asked Hopkins.<p>

"The locals call it Cherry Boulevard."

They were driving in a ramshackle dog cart that Hopkins had rented through a snowed up gravel road lined with bare cherry trees on both sides. Cherry Boulevard was a long way off from Holmes Manor and by the time he had seen the first of the dark trees it was almost noon. Watson had been busy tending to a sick scullery maid that Holmes didn't bother informing him of his plans.

"It's not a much frequented road; you'd have to really go out of your way to come by here." Hopkins said, "It ain't even used as a trade route. Only a few farms up this way although I hear it serves as a back door entrance to Scotland, nifty for criminals since you don't have to pass the border patrol."

Hopkins took a sharp turn to the left into a smaller path that Holmes didn't anticipate. There were more cherry trees but as they went deeper, coniferous trees became numerous and light became scarce. A few minutes into the path he saw ahead, outlined through the snow, the shape of a cozy looking stone cottage sitting in the middle of a clearing. They halted in front of this and both quickly went to work.

"Uninhabited for over two weeks sir, coincides with the Meldowney Road Murder. I have surveyed both inside and outside the surroundings and confirmed this is indeed the home of the dead man."

"Very good Hopkins, very good." Holmes said as he peered into the house through the foggy window. "And does Sachs know of this?"

"It almost came to that point sir, but he dismissed the idea immediately as he had thought of it, saying since the dead man's body was not claimed at the morgue, he didn't matter. I didn't press him any further. He's focusing now on the doctor's whereabouts."

"Hmmm, how silly of him to thinks so, although he had the right mind to search for the other man. What of our commissioner friend?"

"Commissioner Lestrade has secured Turnstones' location long before Sachs had the thought." The young inspector said proudly.

"And his actions?"

"None as of the moment, simply surveillance. We are waiting for your further instructions sir."

"Exellent! I knew your presence would be of great help! Your sense of responsibility has done wonders while I was out of commission for two weeks, now my role in this investigation commences."

"Shall we sir?" Hopkins had opened the door and they proceeded inside.

The room was a simple one, the walls were half wooden panels and a lantern hung from the timber ceiling, a coarse wood commode was the only furniture along with a table and a long bench and there was a wash tub at a corner and a huge gaping hearth to the back.

"My, my." The detective remarked. "This is a new home! The man had been here for not even a year!" he smelled the wood panels of the walls. "Pine and cherry wood have a certain natural scent that when uncured and unvarnished, one can tell the age of the timber. These panels were taken from wood here in the early summer of last year, and this cottage had been made by the very hands of that man's woodcutter son."

"Mr. Holmes!" Hopkins exclaimed. "Why, you speak as if you were neighbors!"

Holmes, who had been walking around the room simply smiled, although it vanished when he heard the whiny of a horse and the wheels of a carriage crunch on the dirt outside.

Hopkins heard it too and they immediately crouched on both sides of the door. There were two men approaching but none said a word. Hopkins seemed to shiver in anticipation as Holmes searched his pockets for his revolver.

He had forgotten it on his desk.

The knob turned and the door pushed open and Holmes, ready for hand on hand combat, jumped up when his karate chop fell short of an inch towards the person's neck.

"Oh, hello there Watson didn't recognize your footsteps as they overlapped with Master Alfred's." he flashed a smile towards the young man who followed Watson.

"You forgot this," the doctor slapped a revolver on Holmes' useless karate chop. "Stanley was kind enough to tell me where you had run off too and I met Mr. Barrington on the road, he said you wired him directions."

"Matter of fact I did. He'll find this first hand experience very useful. Step inside gentlemen, it's a lot less cold inside here. No Hopkins, don't light that hearth, leave it as it is." He reprimanded the inspector as he bent down to light the log fire. "Leave _everything _as it is and let me do the talking. Now where was I? Ah yes! I was just telling Hopkins that this cottage is new and the sewage worker has a woodcutter for a son. But before that— "

He faced the two new comers.

"—how did you find us? The address I wired simply stated Cherry Boulevard."

"It was your tire tracks Mr. Holmes" Alfred answered. "It is common knowledge to me and to any local that this road is rarely travelled, more so in the winter, so when I saw the direction the grass bent beneath the wheels showed they came from town, and there was a single pair of ruts I knew immediately that it could only be yours."

"And _that_ is exactly the reason why you are here my boy." Holmes gave him an approving smile. "Oh, where are my manners? Formalities! Hopkins, this is Alfred Barrington, only son of Lord Robert Barrington, Alfred, this is Inspector Stanley Hopkins, one of the most efficient and active young officers of Scotland Yard. You two will get along well I know."

The two shook hands.

"And you," he turned to Watson, "why are you here?"

"What?" he asked incredulously. "Didn't I just _give_ you the reason why I'm here?"

"Oh that, how kind of you. Can you leave now? We have to work."

Watson's face contorted. "_What?_"

"I'll take that as a no." He turned his back at the doctor. "Now to the case."

The two young men took out notebooks.

"The place as I've told Hopkins is new, not a year old, only completed last summer, the wood panels will tell you that. And as for the woodcutter son? Well you would infer that from the huge axe leaning on the corner."

"But why a son? The father could have been the woodcutter." Watson asked.

"Did you not see the physique of the man? Would that frail body be able to lift that axe? And who do you suggest wears those work boots over there?" he pointed to a corner where two pairs of boots stood dusty. One pair was ordinary work boots but the other looked more work worn and was bigger than the usual pair of shoes.

"The smaller pair is the size of the dead man's feet, so therefore the other belongs to a large, burly and hardworking son. Oh you have a question on your faces. Why a son, you ask? Well obviously anyone energetic enough to lift that axe and build a home of timber and stones would be decidedly younger than the old man. He wouldn't be a hired worker for why would a worker live here afterwards. Alright, let us say he is not the son, but he would be a close relative, a brother, if not then someone who is loved like a son. Now that is not what bothers me really."

"Then what does?" Hopkins asked.

"These two had obviously moved here only last year. But why choose a location far from civilization in a locality that does not even know they and this little cottage exists? If they did, the old man would have been easily identified. This spot is an ideal place for hunting and a little gardening, so they would easily be provided for needless of friendly neighbors."

"But Holmes," Watson butted in, "you mentioned the old man's occupation was a sewage worker."

"Yes I did, and I reconsidered that the moment I saw this place. You see, I said he wore rain boots and smelled strongly of excrement, now I remember that rain boots are the best attire when you don't want your footsteps to be heard in the snow, and the excrement, I could only deduce that the man had been hiding in someone's manure deposit while he followed Turnstone."

"Now that was said, this father and son had chosen this place as a refuge. They are hiding from someone or something; they can't be mining here for the geography of the land holds no mineral treasures. Their old home was no longer safe and they relocated. But there are other matters."

He waited for an interrupting question from the three but none came.

"Who is after them, what are they after for, and where is the son?"

That being said, the gravity of the situation seemed to register itself on the three men's faces.

Holmes chuckled. "We could say then that whoever's after them before had gotten what they wanted."

Again the look of surprise escalated on their faces. This time Holmes sighed in resignation, but Alfred answered.

"Yes, because the father wouldn't have gone after Turnstone if the doctor did not know where his son was."

Holmes smiled, "Very good Alfred, and that concludes our investigation in these parts, for we are now on the doctor's tracks."

"It would be a daunting task to find the man and tell him what had befallen his homely companion." Hopkins said as they made their way out.

Holmes smirked. "That is, _if_ we find him alive."

"Where to next?" Watson asked as he put on his gloves.

"To the nearest public house for a warm mug of beer and roasted sirloin."

* * *

><p>Now that he was once again alone in the confines of his tower, the earlier trip clarified things and the case was now like a puzzle putting itself together in front of him. Whomever Turnstone was working for needed something from the huge man, what it was Holmes was still unsure. Turnstone was important but it was not yet the time to face the man, Lestrade has his eyes on the man and that was no problem.<p>

He lit his pipe and took a long drag, he scratched Toby's ears and did a survey of the room then something caught his attention: the dossier of the case. Ironic how he had nothing to do the whole day but think about the case yet he forgot about these. There remained three letters unread, he recalled there had been two deaths in the previous four and greatly anticipated mention of the raped nun and the burnt stable boy in the last three.

The fifth letter was still the woman's lovely hand writing and seemed to be sent only a little later than the fourth.

_We have found a wonderful specimen for you to work on._

_Although the man is very reluctant to participate he will be under your hands in time._

It was the shortest letter he had read so far and Holmes had a feeling it was referring to the woodcutter, though he didn't understand clearly what it meant by specimen. If Turnstone was involved here then surely it was something highly medical, but what of the man?

The sixth letter seemed to comprise of a different topic entirely, for this time the woman wrote as if she was fuming mad.

_Do not engage yourself in matters that do not concern you._

_You have a different role._

_The woman was meant to be killed._

_But because of your foolishness she got away._

_I repeat Arthur; do not engage yourself in other things._

_It will be the death of you._

Irene.

She was writing about Irene. The nun and the stable boy had not been mentioned but the story of Irene's kidnapping was sitting right here on his lap this very moment. There was only one letter left, and Holmes hoped that there was more to this letter than the entire six had mentioned.

It was a considerably young letter.

_Your services are greatly appreciated._

_The money has been deposited in your account._

_We will call for you when need be._

Holmes threw the dossier in frustration. That was it. That was the end of the evidences that the suspects have provided him. Everything important had been mentioned but everything was still unclear. For all he know the woodcutter would be dead by now. From here on he would have to work on his own and God help him to clear this all up before anyone else died.

The sixth letter had somehow offset him. They were that dedicated to kill Irene. Knowing criminals were always worth their salt, Holmes knew whoever these were a mishap would not stop them from repeating their plans. He was useless when he stayed at home at night; they could kill her in her sleep. He needed to do something about that.

"Come Toby, we're going for a walk."

Holmes picked up two stoppered chemical bottles and a powder box of gunpowder on his way down to his room.

* * *

><p>Watson was enjoying reading to his daughter in the library just after tea when a deafening explosion came from above. The house shook, the shelves wobbled, spilling books everywhere, and the ceiling creaked swaying the hanging gas lamps.<p>

Elizabeth shrieked as bits of plaster fell on them. Watson grabbed her and ran out the room to the foyer. Mary was running from the sitting room with Gladstone in arms, followed by a panicking cook, Stanley, and the scullery maid.

"John! Are you two alright?!"

The place had quieted down, but Watson smelled the gas in the air, seconds later Holmes was running towards them yelling.

"OUT! EVERYBODY OUT!"

They had only scampered onto the white lawn outside when fire burst through the door.

Watson looked back, Elizabeth crying in his arm.

The mansion was on fire.

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><p><strong>AN: What you guys think? :D Review please! **


	15. Serendipity

**A/N: So I left you hanging. Thanks so much to those who reviewed! I'm glad you had a great read! Hey, don't hesitate to tell me if it's starting to bore you in some parts okay? So I'll know how to make it better for you guys.**

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><p><strong>Serendipity<strong>

* * *

><p>Watson put down the sleepy and worn out Elizabeth on the bed. They had taken lodgings in the nearest inn and the entire household occupied a suite room. Cook was comforting the sobbing maid, Stanley and the page boy were keeping the two dogs company. Watson embraced his wife and told her to rest beside Elizabeth then he went out to the balcony.<p>

Holmes manor was in plain site and the winter sunset illuminated the pitiful heap. It was no longer on fire but smoke still rose from it and the numerous water carriages of the fire department were still at work. Even from the distance, he could make out the distinct shapes of the Holmes brothers. Sherlock stood shorter and frailer compared to his corpulent and lofty brother Mycroft. They were talking and the younger Holmes gave a few hand gestures.

Mycroft had just arrived from town with the stable boy when he saw the state of his household. He immediately carted them off to the nearest inn whereas he and his brother remained to receive the authorities.

The doctor sighed, the last two weeks had been very peaceful, but now it seems that fate decided to play on them with consecutive perilous events. Watson knew, and he did not feel bad about thinking so, that his friend had something to do with the explosion. He wasn't angry, he felt too tired to be angry, he was simply content his family is safe, and of course, Holmes is alive.

The smoking had stopped, he saw Mycroft shake hands with the sergeant, and the two brothers boarded a carriage. In a few minutes they were in the room.

"Terrible business Watson, terrible indeed." Mycroft said; his voice forlorn. "I've arranged for the home to be renovated, but it would take a while. Although that is no problem, yet I am inclined to think that we should all move back to London."

Watson's spirits rose. "Back to London? Why, that would be great."

Sherlock Holmes just grunted from a corner.

"Yes, yes, I thought so too, since you lads already have quarters there and living here in an inn out in the country would be a discomfort. As for our servants." He glanced over to the attentive household. "I would have to give you a rest for a while, your salaries would compensate for your lost possessions, you may go home to your families, if you do not wish to comeback after the home is renovated it is alright with me." He smiled. "I am simply glad that no one is hurt."

There was a knock on the door, and Stanley got up to let the visitor in. Lord Barrington strode hurriedly into the room and clasped Mycroft into an embrace.

"Oh thank heavens you are alright." He held his friend at arms length. "News travels fast my friend, and I must tell you that I was worried to my bones when it reached me." He took a look around the inhabitants of the room. "Look at all of you! Why, you cannot possibly stay here at this state, your possessions are left at the disaster!"

"Yes Bobby, thus we have decided upon going back to London and the servants may leave us for their homes."

"London? But it's already night fall; it's too far for an already weary family."

"We can manage; none of us was injured after all." Watson said. "Thank you for your concern sir."

"No, no, that would not do!" Barrington argued. "The snow has thickened once more, and it is a burden upon my conscience to see you leave like this. I insist upon you staying over at Meldowney, until your mansion is restored."

Sherlock got up immediately. "How generous of you sir! Why, we cannot simply refuse this offer, after all, blessings are rare!"

Watson shot him a glare and was about to refuse when he felt Mary's hand on his shoulder.

"It would be lovely to stay there Lord Barrington." She said.

"You're welcome Mrs. Watson, after all this arrangement would make your employment easier. It benefits all three of you!"

"Yes, I've realized that, although regardless, I just need Elizabeth to stay in a safe place."

Watson looked at his wife's tired and worried face and knew she was right. He glanced over to Holmes who had a triumphant smile, and simply nodded in resignation.

"Alright then, I agree to stay at Meldowney."

Barrington and Mycroft exchanged smiles.

"Well, that's that!" Mycroft said, "Ready yourselves and in a few moments we'll be off."

As he boarded the carriage, Watson was held back before he could get on. He looked and saw Holmes tugging on his jacket with a gleam of urgency in his eyes. Watson turned to Mary.

"You go on ahead, I'll catch up, and I'll try to see if I could save any of our things from the fire."

"But John—"

"It's alright, I'll be there." Then the carriage was off.

He followed Holmes back to the ruined mansion, anticipating what his friend had to reveal, and as they passed the curve road and came nearer the house, he didn't realized how much damage had been done. Parts of the roof had fallen in, the walls were charred black, windows had smashed in the heat, and the ash drifting from the burnt debris mingled with the falling snow.

"Oh dear, what _have_ you done Holmes?" he muttered in awe.

"See that over there?" Holmes pointed to a hole on the wall of the second floor where his bedroom window was before. "That's what I've done."

Watson raised an eyebrow at him.

"It was only a containable explosion."

"Yes and how very well the entire house contained it."

"No really, the compound I used would only make something more of a giant firecracker. The smoke and shaking of the house was part of its explosion. I might have overdone it a bit seeing as my window gave way, but won't you kindly explain this?" he led them around to the back of the house near the kitchen. Or so it was before.

More than half of the back wall was blown up, he could see the copper pots and pans once hanging neatly in the cupboards now scattered and strew along with other burnt debris. The rooms inside was unrecognizable.

"It was fortunate that Cook, Stanley and the maid were out of the kitchen when it happened." Holmes said.

"But Holmes! There was only one explosion!"

"Exactly, two incidents yet only one explosion, what do you gather from that Mother Hen?"

Watson racked his brains. "Coincidence…? "

"Really? I'd rather call it serendipity."

"That's not important Holmes." Watson felt panic rising in the pits of his stomach with his realization. "It was a bomb! Someone tried to kill us!"

"Kills us! Oh no Watson! _Not _kill us! Only to scare us! Scare us away from here. If it were meant to kill we'd be all dead, won't we? You see I never underestimate the opponent, and I don't suppose I'm fit to die this way."

This didn't lighten Watson's mood. He snorted at his friend and walked towards the gaping hole.

"Serendipity Watson, because we were maimed, yet we come out the victor, well, in a way." they trudged through the slushy snow spotted with black ash. "Our expulsion from our own dwelling only helped us to understand more of our opponent. And as a bonus to that we'll be in close quarters with that lovely lady friend of ours."

"Oh shut it, you just want to sleep with Irene."

"How brash Watson!" Holmes feigned an offended face. "I would not even think of it."

"But you would do it." The doctor muttered jokingly.

Holmes just gave a blank look. "Let's carry on, shall we?"

They stood outside the hole. Holmes' eyes traveled every nook and cranny, and Watson awaited verdict.

"We are dealing with an amateur here Watson, yet an amateur who is a brilliant tactician." He pointed to a spot on the crumbling wall that formed a niche. "This here was an old broom cupboard that opened to the outside, but later on a gas pipe was installed here with a valve, it connected to the rest of the gas pipes inside and the valve regulated the amount. It was faulty engineering I tell you; I never understood why my father put it here outside. I always knew it would come to our misfortune. And here—"

He pointed to the hole this time.

"Was the kitchen window where our culprit had thrown in his package, simple, direct but effective, observe there," he pointed to the ground in the middle of the room. "The explosion had originated there, and as both my bomb and this one set off, the house shook and the kitchen was demolished. Over there," he pointed to a faint glint in the charred room, "must be the gas pipe destroyed by the explosion. Our friend turned up the valve here, creating a surplus of gas in the house."

"Yes, I recall smelling gas."

"The explosion would mean fire; the gas would mean an even bigger fire. He didn't use lighter fluid or petrol in a container knowing it would be obvious to anyone he meets along the way. So he went with luck to use the gas pipe lines and found my father's faulty engineering and succeeded in arson."

"Clever…"

"Yes, I agree with you… Very clever indeed."

"Have you traced his tracks?"

"Sadly no, the mess has covered whatever tracks there was. I tried looking for them away from the house, and I did see one shoe print. It was small, so it could be a child's or a woman's. But it did not point to either the house or from it. It may be irrelevant, but then again I took note of it for data. Whoever we are dealing with Watson clearly knows how to shake me off."

"What about an inside person? Not that I don't trust your servants, but it is probable."

"Oh please Watson! I trust the page boy more than I trust your wife, but I didn't accuse her of arson did I?"

The doctor scowled. "Well then, what do you suppose we do next?"

"We- as we've done these past few weeks- wait."

"But seeing this already as a preliminary warning, wouldn't our stay over at Meldowney anger our assailant even more?"

"Yes, you are correct."

"Then you'll not only endanger us but their entire household also!"

"Ah, I share your concern Watson, but they were already in danger even before we came here. Our presence means to help, I don't think we could do any good if we're hundreds of miles away in London town." He patted the doctor on the back. "Now shall we to our new abode? I believe a warm cup of tea is waiting, a hot sympathy feast would be even better!"

* * *

><p>Watson was reunited with his family in the warm sitting room of the Barrington's mansion; they had not yet settled into rooms, and while the family sat in peaceful silence, Holmes sat still in his chair, clearly deep in thought. Mycroft, sitting next to his brother, also seemed to be in thought, although he interrupted his meditation by occasionally reaching out for a sugared biscuit on the coffee table.<p>

A secondary butler walked in and rung the dinner bell and the undeniably famished group followed him to the dining room.

A quick scan of the room showed Watson that there were only few in attendance around the table; one of the triplets was absent and so was their mother, Alfred had returned to university this morning, while Irene, ever present, sat beside her fiancé. She was looking at something; her brows were slightly furrowed and angry sparks seemed to emit from her eyes. Watson saw Holmes was at the receiving end of this sour look.

Barrington stood up and gestured them to their seats. "Welcome! My friends, I will be your caretaker for your stay here. Let me have the honor to offer you the best my estate can provide! Sit and eat well!"

Grace was said and nothing more was heard, only the clinking of silver wear and Irene's occasional whispers to her fiancé's ear. To Watson the atmosphere felt very becoming and didn't mind Irene's sweet nothings and he ate on with gusto.

To Holmes, every time she placed her lips close to the man's ear, he wanted to throw his dinner fork. Not able to contain his silence any longer, he interrupted Irene's flirtations.

"It is a rather odd occurrence sir, that the triplets are not complete?"

"Pardon me Mr. Holmes?" Barrington was still leaning towards the Woman.

"Ms. Wisteria's absence has caught my attention. It is rare to see the triplets to be separated. Lady Myrtle is absent also, but that has been a frequent habit of hers. If you don't mind my asking, what academic sort of activity has the mother and daughter pursued that they would be absent for this momentous evening?"

There was a pregnant pause.

Watson stopped midway through his shepherd's pie, Mary, stared in confusion; the Twins fluttered their eyelashes, and Irene shot Holmes another icy glare, only Mycroft seemed to be unaffected, used to his brother's antics.

Barrington stuttered a bit, "W-well, I don't mind answering, although it strikes me Mr. Holmes, what made you think it was an academic errand?"

"Oh, it seemed to be the only reasonable answer if Ms. Wisteria is involved."

The lord laughed, "But you are quite mistaken there sir, you see, they fetched our housekeeper from her home. She had been ailing for a while and went to rest, but now she is well. She has been such a lovely addition to this family since she came last year that they care that much to fetch her."

"I see, I understand." Holmes resumed his dinner, but did not sound convinced. "And speaking of, this would be them."

Lady Myrtle entered the hall.

"Dastardly weather!" she plopped onto a chair, "If I knew it would change that fast I would not have gone out at all! Oh but errands, errands!" she complained in the most unrefined way, and piled mash potatoes onto her plate in a haphazard manner. The widow's fork was halfway to her mouth when she noticed all eyes on her.

"Good evening ma'am." Holmes said, tongue in cheek.

"Well if it isn't the Homeless Holmes!" she exclaimed almost too eagerly. "If it wasn't only last night you had stayed here, I would be surprised to see you! Hello dear Mycroft, I hope you've had a bearable day." She took a sip of wine, "I heard the news from some gossipers at town. I wasn't able to rush by quickly for my errands were too many. I didn't expect you to be here actually, if you would forgive my rude entrance, but of course Robert would never forget about you."

It's as if the fuming ginger bullfrog that entered the doors a while ago was replaced by a jolly fat aunt.

"We could indeed use a bit of company these cold days. You are very welcome to stay as long as you wish!"

"Only until renovations are complete Tully." Mycroft answered.

"Hmm… Is that so? Very well then, you must enjoy your time here!"

The doors opened once more and this time Terry walked in accompanied by an old lady garbed in black from head to toe; wisps of grey hair visible under her bonnet.

"Mrs. Harrison!" Irene suddenly exclaimed, she got up and embraced the crone.

"Ah here she is! Mr. Holmes, this is whom I meant earlier. They've come to fetch Mrs. Harrison. I believe I have mentioned the late Mrs. Delaney; may she rest in peace, has a sister? This is her. Mrs. Harrison, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Georgina Harrison."

He stood to shake her hand, and the moment palm met palm, Holmes felt the utmost dislike for the motherly old woman. The feeling was obviously mutual for her blue eyes looked at him from head to toe in disgust and they ended the hand shake almost immediately.

"Mrs. Harrison would be glad to contribute to the investigation also, I'm sure she is pleased to meet you."

"Oh, yessir, very much pleased." She piped in her small scratchy voice, but her eyes said otherwise.

"I believe that the feeling is mutual Mr. Holmes?" Barrington asked cheerily, always the unaware.

Holmes narrowed his eyes at the lady.

"Very mutual."

* * *

><p>"How was your vacation Nanny?" Irene asked the old woman as she helped her into her night things.<p>

"Oh it was lonely, but I have recuperated, and so the better to enjoy my stay here."

Irene smiled and reached out for her hairbrush.

"Let me get that for you Rinny, now sit and I'll brush your hair."

The woman complied.

"You've gotten thinner. My, my, what have you been doing to yourself? A bride must glow with health on her wedding day, don't tell me you're still plagued by that terrible memory of being kidnapped. You aren't, are you?"

Irene smiled at the old lady through the mirror. "No, I'm fine now. Robert's taken care of me and that terrible incident was long ago. I feel even better now that you're here."

"Well I'm glad," she plaited Irene's chocolate locks. "But oh what about that horrible looking man?! He simply _reeks_ of trouble! Are they sure it's safe to let him in the house?! Why, he looks as if he's better in the stable!"

Irene tried best not to roll her eyes; the topic she wanted to avoid was brought up. "You mean Mr. Holmes nanny?" she said sweetly.

"Who else? How shocked I was when they told me he was Lord Mycroft's brother! I mean compare the difference, Mycroft's well bred and well fed appearance to that mangy mutt of a person, no one would think that. He is the detective of this investigation they say? Ack! Well blessed be my sister's soul if this man does prove his worth. I've heard a bit about him, no wonder he looks like that, nosy-body detective work is dirty work my dear, you better listen to me when I tell you not to meddle with those things. When he asks of your kidnapping, just state the facts and nothing more. If you have to stay in the same room with that man then worry not because I'll be there to keep you company. I've got my eye on him."

Luckily she was an actress, if not then pure annoyance would show on her face. Harrison knew her as the beautiful and talented actress and she knew this woman doted on her and volunteered to chaperone her at times and her company was invaluable. But if word of her not so distant past; her thievery and exploits, would reach Harrison then it would break the poor woman's heart. So now she maintained an almost pained look of sweetness and obedience on her face as her nanny ranted.

Irene let out a long yawn.

"Oh dear, it's late and you're already tired."

"I think you should rest too, you've had a long travel tonight." Irene said and walked the lady from her room to the boudoir.

"I'll be off now, and remember, as long as I'm here, that mangy man won't harm you. Lord knows what I'd do to him if he touches a single hair on you!"

"Good night nanny." Irene closed the door and let out a sigh of relief.

_Alone at last…_

"I'm interested, what _can _she do to me?" Holmes said from behind her.

Irene groaned, and faced her visitor. "I'm probably hoping she could get your arse out of my room."

"Ooh, coarse words from the sweet little Rinny, won't that break your nanny's heart?" Holmes taunted and rose from the chair he had been sitting on.

Irene walked over to him and pointed an accusing finger under his nose. "You and your little tricks Sherlock. Why have you come here? Haven't I pleaded enough?"

He smiled and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I wonder what she would do when she learns I've touched more than just a single hair."

She slapped his hand away instantly. "I'm not fooling around anymore. Men are not allowed in the West wing. How did you get here and what do you want?"

"Men aren't allowed to _enter_ the West wing corridor. Nothing was said about entering the windows darling." He smirked. "And you ask why I'm here? To very well ask you why you blew up my house."

In the spur of the moment, she slapped him across the face. Holmes staggered a bit but remained his stand.

"How dare you accuse me?" she said seething.

"Then how dare you deny it." His jesting tone was gone and Irene knew Holmes was a formidable opponent when he was serious. "No one else had come to my home to be free enough to survey a good place for a bomb. No one else is determined enough to have me thrown out of town but you. The certain compound used is that of your specialty, the shoe print I found was your size, and don't think I'm unaware of your proficiency of throwing me off track."

She slapped him again.

Holmes massaged his face. "Well that doesn't really count as an answer but I take that you're offended."

Irene fumed where she stood, her palms stung from the impact, but her eyes stung with tears. She didn't dare let them fall. "How kind of you to pay me a visit, now if you have no more insults to say, please leave." Then she stormed from the boudoir into her room, shut her door and threw herself on the bed and screamed into her cushions until she was exhausted.

"There is one thing I forgot to mention though." The detective's voice said softly nearby.

She looked up and saw him sitting on the open window sill. "More insults and accusations?" her voice still hurt.

"About your kidnapping, I've been on this investigation for weeks but never had the chance to ask you of it. After all, it is a rare occurrence for _The_ Irene Adler to become prisoner to anyone, save; bless his soul, Professor Moriarty."

He smirked at the last part but his voice was soft and his gaze gentle. Was this how he apologized to her? She looked at him with furrowed brows, he was right; she had never told him about her plight. Irene got up from her bed and joined him by the window. They were silent for a while till she spoke.

"The clouds have cleared out and the moon's out..." she said looking up at the sky.

Holmes waited intently.

"… Just like that night…"

"Go on…"

"I had gone to visit the hospice in Robert's place, after what had happened to the nun only days before then. My visit lasted a while and it was dark when I left. I went there on foot, and by the light of the moon I walked home. The road was familiar to me and I wasn't scared."

She laughed a bit. Of course she wasn't scared; she was Irene Adler.

"Then not very long, I met an old man on the road."

"What?"

"Yes, but I wasn't surprised since the path is used by locals. He was leaning on a stick and his clothes were ragged and old. I surmised he was one of the village folks and greeted him."

"With caution?"

"Of course with caution." She rolled her eyes.

"When he saw me, as if some excitement took over him that he limped fast towards me. When he was close enough, he dropped his cane and almost ran."

"Wait… was the man bent over?"

She raised an eyebrow at him but answered. "Yes, a little and he seemed quite tall, his stick was too short for him, but by that I realized he was faking his limp."

"Hmmm? And how would you know that?"

"I'm an accomplished actress remember?"

"…right. Pray continue."

She smirked. "I didn't move from where I stood, but I was ready if he wanted to assault me, then with gentle hesitation he asked…"

"_E-Elizabeth Amour?"_

_The man seemed to shake in his boots and she knew he wasn't there to harm her. As long as he knew him only by that name then there was no real danger she wouldn't be able to handle. "Yes, what do you want?" _

_He had trouble with his words. "H-how o-odd it is to meet you here, alone and at this t-time! Al-although now that y-you're here, w-would you be k-k-kind to point where Heather Village is?"_

_She smiled warmly, "Oh sir, you've gone the wrong way, the village is on the other side of the land, come with me this way back." and led him down the road._

_As they walked in silence, the man shifted uneasily and turned his head constantly to both sides, sometimes behind them, and a small whimper would escape his lips. This man was surely in trouble, but she wasn't one to show she cared, so Irene simply led the way without asking. _

_At times when the leaves of the nearby trees rustled, the man would start and clutch his cloak closer around his body and she, careful not to show her caution, would press her hand to her hip feeling for the shape of her dagger in the pocket of her skirts. If he was this jumpy and bothered, then there must be something out there that she should be prepared to face. _

_Owls hooted and the summer breeze blew through the trees louder. When their path became covered with more trees, Irene clutched at the silver dog whistle that hung around her neck. Beast was always easy to call. He was fast and besides, he would always be around wherever she went in the estate although doesn't always show himself. _

Yes, Beast will be here when I need him. _ She thought to calm herself._

_When the atmosphere didn't seem to be so foreboding, she struck a conversation._

"_What brings you to Meldowney Estate sir, and more importantly Heather Village?"_

_The man smiled, the moon illuminating his surprisingly young face. "I'm looking for someone and a place to stay while I find her."_

"_Oh, a woman," She smiled to herself thinking the man sought out a long lost lover. "Is she that important to you that you'd go here by the night and scare yourself in the woods just to see her?"_

_His smile dropped and his tone became serious. "No, she's of no importance to me, but it is important that I see her. It is her life that is at stake and I might just be able to save her. I have heard that she has recently been in Meldowney Estate that's why I'm here_

_Not being able to hold her curiosity, she asked. "Who is this woman sir?"_

"_I-I forgot her complete name… but I remember her last, Adler. Her name is Adler."_

_Irene missed a step and her breath caught in her throat. He didn't have to repeat what he said because she heard clearly, and her hand tightened around the dog whistle._

"_Do you know where I might find her?"_

_His question was unheard by Irene. Her heart pounded in her head, and she felt like running. This man was a harbinger of bad news, bad news that would be put to good if she acted fast. The rustling of the leaves became louder, and it was not her imagination when she heard a twig snap somewhere in the trees. She grabbed the man's hand and made a run for the village._

"_Why are we running?!" the man yelped, his hood had flown off and she saw him to be a tall middle aged man._

"_Because if we don't, we die." With that her companion ran faster._

_It was a wondrous turn of events when at one point they ran as fast as they could from invisible pursuers then suddenly a carriage with warm yellow gas lights came into view ahead. At last there was somebody else on the lonely road, and transportation would mean that civilization was nearby. The driver saw them and apparently so did the passenger because they stopped beside the two._

_Her companion was about to speak when they were both gagged from behind. Chloroform clouded her senses, her body struggled but her brain started to shut down and everything went black._

_She woke up on a bed in a dimly lit room, her back against a bed post and her hands tied above her head. With the current position she was in, Irene immediately looked down at herself to check her modesty._

_She wasn't touched. Not yet though. The time elapsed seemed long though because she was already hungry and felt very weak. She wasn't gagged or even blind folded, just tied to a post in a dark room. Her captors were probably amateurs._

_Feeling her wrist bonds with her fingers, she found out they weren't even tight enough to hold her. Irene felt insulted, just because she was a woman they would go easy on her? They could do better than this; she had the right mind to complain. In seconds she was free, she checked her pockets; her dagger was still there and none of her jewels were taken. What was this that she'd gotten herself into, and where was her companion?_

Of course, he was an accomplice you dolt. _She smacked herself on the forehead. _But wait, then why was he gagged also?

_Irene recalled his early pretense as an old limping man. His jumpy ways, his young nervous face, and then his mission to inform her of impending doom seemed altogether true that he couldn't be an accomplice. Was this what he wanted to warn her about? Was he just a bit too late and now she would die here?_

_Of course she won't. Irene Adler never dies; died once, almost twice but still alive. _

_They couldn't even tie her properly, how would they kill her? _

"… then I realized that the room was moving. The bed I was on was in a caravan. Of course I immediately thought I was sold off to prostitution. When I broke free I saw out the driver window that there were only two men, and it was the only caravan. Needless to say I took them out effortlessly and rode back on their horse. Surprisingly, I wasn't very far from town."

"The moment I got to a constabulary the constables were stunned. They told me I had been missing for three days and my appearance was the least expected result. I was returned home and after that, Robert employed police to be on guard in outposts all over the estate, although my captors were never apprehended."

By the time Irene ended her story she had untangled her plait and her hair drifted in the cold winter air. She was curled up on the window sill with chin resting on her knees, and Holmes sat in front of her listening attentively.

"Curious…" he said.

She raised her head at him and scoffed. "Is that all you can comment? 'Curious'?"

He smiled, "There are a lot of things that go on in my mind, my dear, and by experience since when have I ever divulged them to you? But yes, it is a very curious story, and hearing this does help clarify things for the investigation."

"That's it?" she blinked. "You won't even ask me how I felt, or how I've been after that? You're not even worried that I was bloody _kidnapped_ for Pete's sake!"

"Well you're still here, alive and annoying as ever, I guess it would be useless to worry." He said without hesitation.

Irene sneered and turned her head to the moon. "How typical of you…"

"There is one thing I'd like to ask though..." She didn't answer so he went on. "...Those two men you took out, what did they look like?"

"You everyday typical goon; big brawny body, small head, and stupid expression."

"Hmm, quaint. Alright, what about their clothing?"

"Clothing?"

"Yes. What were they wearing, specifically the shoes?"

Irene recalled her thoughts... "I do remember them wearing the same pair of shoes... Black patent oxfords... those expensive looking ones."

"That will do." He stepped off the sill onto the ledge outside. "Thank you for sharing this information, it's late; I think I should be gone."

"You're slower than your usual pace Sherlock; these are just a series of murders."

She said as he stood there seemingly floating outside her window.

"You've done brilliant work before in just days, it's going to be a month and you're still asking questions and putting together puzzles. Tell me, these aren't _just_ a series of murders, are they?"

She met his gaze with her sleepy eyes and he just smiled.

"You'd better sleep now or else nanny will be cross." His fingers graced her cheek. "Goodnight darling little Rinny…"

He kissed her on the forehead and he was gone.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I made Sherlock kiss her on the forehead since I've read somewhere that a kiss there meant to comfort the person. ^_^ Well ain't that fluffy?**

**Beatles reference. Georgina Harrison is named after my favorite Beatle. GEORGE HARRISON. I guess that's obvious enough, but I do love George so much I just had to include him somehow. XD**

**Whew this was a long chapter to write therefore a long one to edit. Goodnight to you guys. Haven't slept for hours and it's already morning here. Please don't forget to review! They'll give me sweet dreams. ^_^ Dratted sun, why you rise?!**

**-Jackques Sparreaux**


	16. The Napoleon of Cats

**The Napoleon of Cats**

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><p>Molls' Menagerie looked sparer than the last time he'd been here. The animal related merchandise once stacked up on the walls and shop windows were now stored into boxes and crates on the floor. The noisy, lively and smelly animals were no longer in their places and made the little store seemed bleak and gloomy. The counter once littered with various vials of medicine and dog treats was spotless clean and the dwarfish owner appeared and disappeared behind it, still packing away his things into more boxes.<p>

Molls had sent a telegram to him this morning that he was to leave for London in the afternoon then off to the States the next morning, and it would be nice to see Holmes one last time. Also to deliver his thanks and regards to Mycroft since the man was too busy to come. He had brought along Toby for the occasion. The little man hummed a cheerful tune as he went back and forth, Toby following him happily wagging his tail. Holmes watched as the pair moved about and thought to himself that this was better than joining the Watsons and Lady Myrtle in their shopping.

The fire had destroyed some of the Watson's belongings and clothes, and the family shopped and to dallied around the slushy town streets. Lady Myrtle accompanied them having mentioned that the triplet's birthday was tomorrow and she needs a new dress. Holmes had no interest for such activities and in the few days of his residence at Meldowney, he had come to the habit of ignoring their petty shopping trips and Lady Myrtle's impractical ways.

So there he sat twiddling and twisting his pipe in his hand since Molls did not allow him to smoke inside. Not able to resist his urges for nicotine, he lit it, and took a long satisfying drag. Molls immediately took the pipe from him and tipped its smoldering contents into an empty fishbowl. Holmes blew the smoke into the little man's face.

"Now, now Mr. Holmes," he sputtered, "what's with the iffy temper?"

"Iffy?"

"Oh, forgive me, 'tis my daughter's continental words that I've taken to using. You see, she writes a lot, and tends to use her new words on me.I mean your unpredictable manner today. The moment you've stepped in here you've been pacing my floors, you sat down then stood up again, then when I thought you've exhausted yourself you take out that vile pipe of yours and whisk it around."

"I don't," his tone dark, "_whisk_ it around."

"Oh very well," Molls sighed and handed the pipe back to Holmes, "burn your lungs all you want if it makes you any happier, just don't blow the smoke on my animals." He led him into the back of the shop and out into a patio on the small courtyard where all the caged pets were kept. "I've placed them here for the time being, they could get in the way of packing. You can smoke here as you sort your thoughts out." He gestured Holmes to a garden chair. "Now sit there and I'll get us some coffee."

He came back with two tin cups of steaming coffee. "I'll hazard a guess young Mr. Holmes." Molls said. "You are troubled…"

"What a deep observation." He said dryly as he relit his pipe.

"…by a woman."

He gagged.

"Seems like measly old Molls has struck the heart of trouble." The old man laughed cheekily as he sipped his coffee.

"What makes you think that?"

"Oh, I've had my fair share of experience dealing with those fair creatures, some had been well, some not so, but the point being I am more adept at the subject than you seem to be."

"I don't see how." He tried best not to think about the man's graying ginger hair and dwarfish features which made him look like a leprechaun.

"Well, I do have children Mr. Holmes. One cannot have children without charming a woman first. And yes, I've had those _iffy_ experiences where I've burnt out my most precious pipes just thinking about those women. Oh yes, I did smoke in my younger years, but to please my wife I stopped. So don't you tell me I won't be able to help you with this." He smiled and his eyes twinkled with wisdom.

Holmes turned his head away, keeping his composure; that is until he blew out his coffee and sipped his pipe bowl.

Molls laughed in hysterics as the detective gagged once more, he patted the coughing man on the back. "Oh you unfortunate soul, come now let me help you. In my time, I've loved animals since then, and I have to be honest with you that although flowers seemed to expensive for me to buy, a precious pup or a kind kitten was never out of reach. They gave better results than a week's worth of flower deliveries my boy!" he laughed.

"Once I wooed a lovely songstress, she was kind but other men had wealth as an advantage and they lavished her with gifts. Then one day I fought through the throng of suitors bringing with me a caged canary. The men laughed at me, but she shushed them and she smiled as she took the cage and asked me my name."

Holmes observed the dreamy look in the old man's eyes.

"Needless to say she became my wife…"

"So you're saying I should give away juvenile animals in exchange for a bride? Not really my thing Mr. Molls."

Molls laughed again. "For a brilliant man like you, you are rather dense Mr. Holmes, come here." He pulled the detective towards the cages. "See these lovely little creatures? They're the key to soften a woman's heart. Honestly, I am not sure if it will work for you, but then again it has always worked for me. Now choose the one that reminds you of her, then maybe it will work wonders between the two of you."

"Well I could try… but I don't really-"

"Do or do not, if you want to be with her, then there is no try."

He stood there uneasily, looking at the many small creatures inside the cages. Molls opened the top latch of the puppies' cage and the kittens' cages for him to see well. The puppies yapped and wagged their tails at him, the kittens mewled and purred expectantly at him but something else caught his eye.

All the other animals seemed engrossed and attracted to their visitor but one. He stepped nearer the cage where a white cat had its back to him; it sensed him alright, but chose to ignore. Then it looked at him over its shoulder, its tail raised and swished it around languidly, then ignored him again, as if it was seducing him but had better things to do.

_Just like her…_

"I see you've got an eye on the lovely assassin."

"What? Of course I don't!"

"Of course you do!" Molls opened the cage of the white cat and the creature slithered out and into its care taker's arms. "I fancied naming her Napoleon."

"Napoleon is a man's name." Holmes said dully, "and not a rather charming one." He remembered his adversary of the same moniker.

Molls laughed. "I know, but the cat seems to suite it, but otherwise I'd call her the assassin."

"Care to tell me why?"

"She loves to kill animals smaller than her; rats, mice, birds, and sometimes if she's very bad tempered, even the puppies and kittens aren't saved." He sighed. "But I couldn't put her down; hoping someday there could be someone who would tame her…"

_Uncanny similarity… _"Maybe it could very well be me..."

Molls smiled and placed the white cat into Holmes hands. He had enough time to observe that the cat had a blue left eye and a green right eye before it spat at him and sunk its claws and teeth into his hands.

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><p>He walked home with bandaged hands holding the silk covered cage of the vile thing with Toby at his heels. The entire business had him doubting the cat's effectiveness. Holmes wondered why he wasted his time listening to the little man's nonsense about animals when he could have done better things, then again he had agreed to the folly as a parting gesture to his friend.<p>

Holmes passed through a plaza crowded with merchant stalls and market goers. He dodged the hectic crowd but got stuck in the middle of the horde, until he was pulled aside by a familiar person.

"Thanks Mr. Han; could've been minced in there if it weren't for you." He said as he dusted himself off.

The huge Chinaman bowed in greeting. "You're welcome Mr. Sherlock Holmes, although now that I've done you a favor, then maybe you would grace me with one too." He said in his flawless English with a greedy smile and gestured to his table of oriental merchandise.

Holmes groaned inwardly, this would be the second mercantile favor he'd perform if he complied, but something about the huge barbaric looking man made him oblige. "Very well, let me see your goods." The table was covered in various interesting objects, ointments in jade green bottles, boxes of tea, silk fans, jade jewelries, ornate carved boxes, an ivory hand mirror, but what caught his interest was an ivory pipe with an amber stem.

Holmes picked it and scrutinized it closely. "I'll take this beauty."

He smoked as he walked the seven miles back to Meldowney enjoying the luxury of the pipe and not minding the cold, he didn't even mind the spitting cat inside the cage under his arm. Toby had no complaints himself and followed his master happily. When they got to the mansion, Holmes came face to face with Mrs. Harrison at the foyer.

"Had quite a mud slide, didn't we?" she regarded his muddy shoes and tracks.

Holmes merely tipped his hat and proceeded inside when she held her arms in front of him.

"No smoking within the mansion." She eyed his new pipe.

"Tell that to Lord Barrington." He swerved out of her way but she caught up and stopped him again.

"Your mutt is leaving muddy tracks just like you, to the stables with him."

"For your information, Tobias is a prime breed; half Lurcher half Bloodhound and has been allowed inside by the master of the house. And yes, what you would expect from a slushy country road."

"Then why did you not take a carriage?"

"I've spent my fare money."

"Squanderer! What nasty object have you spent your money on? On this?" she pulled off the cage's silk cover and Napoleon spat violently at the light.

Georgina Harrison did not take well with cats; and Holmes was yelled at until he agreed to leave Toby and the cat in the stables. Of course Holmes would never let the old crone have her way and to satisfy Harrison's whim, he let her see him go to the direction of the stables, and from there where she could not see him, he would sneak through the back hoping to enter through the kitchen. Unfortunately, to do this plan, he had to leave Toby for a while with the horses.

The kitchen was not busy, and the servants were familiar with him that they didn't mind his presence, but when he was about to enter a main corridor, the familiar tapping of Harrison's heels sounded nearer that Holmes quickly threw himself into the nearest doorway. He tripped and fell and a multitude of cleaning materials fell on his head including a smelly rug. It was a broom cupboard.

_Charming… _

He thought as he pulled off the smelly article. The familiar footsteps passed the cupboard and down the hall; he was clear; now to get to his room and secure the cat. He looked where the cage had landed and to his horror found it open and empty.

_The kitty! Where's that bloody kitty?! _

Holmes got to his feet and scanned the small dark space; it had to be here somewhere. He felt something soft brush past his cheek and saw the cat sitting on a shelf level with his head. She was licking her paw in the most serene manner until both human and feline heard a faint squeak. The cat sat up alert and as the detective made a grab for her, Napoleon leaped off her perch and pursued the source of the squeak: a mouse.

Holmes got on his front and tried to reach for the cat as it ran after the mouse underneath the shelves and cabinets. _Come back here you troublesome creature!_

If he didn't fear discovery by the evil housekeeper, then he would have yelled that out loud. To his dismay Napoleon disappeared through a hole in the floor in pursuit of the mouse. Holmes lit a match and thankfully found a candle stump on one of the shelves. The light illuminated the cramped room and what he saw raised his spirits. There, faintly outlined in the middle of the floor, was a trap door, it had no handle or latch, but the hole Napoleon had entered was a corner of the door.

_Good kitty._

It was a stairwell that led deep down to the mansion's foundations, and within the sturdy old arches Holmes found a wide stone lined tunnel that appeared to be as old as the mansion itself. It seems that the tunnel was frequently used back in the day for there were torch sconces. Holmes took one of these and lit it.

The tunnel ran straight and he walked ahead with the torch light. If Napoleon came down here then she would only either be somewhere in the tunnel or down at its end and there was only one way to go and that was forward. With his sense of direction that a sailor would envy, Holmes recognized that the tunnel went North West, to say it he was now under the western part of the estate. Napoleon was not insight and he walked on.

Later he sensed that the tunnel was ascending slightly and the walls seemed cooler and damp. He pressed his ear to the wall and heard a soft gush from above; the tunnel had ascended higher and he was now underneath a brook. By his knowledge of the land, there was only one body of water in the west area and it was the brook that separated the Meldowney farm lands from the Hospice's farm lands. He had walked very far.

Holmes could see a dead end up ahead where the earth had fallen in. Napoleon was there alright and she was meowing in frustration and pawed at the dirt.

"Your dinner got away?" he said as he picked Napoleon into his arms, she meowed dejectedly at not being able to get her prey. "I'm not sure how you'll work things between me and Irene, but you are quite the little bugger." Then he walked back to the mansion.

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><p>When night had fallen and the house silenced into sleep Holmes sat up awake. He could not take the tunnel out of his mind. In the past two weeks he was in the estate, he had spent most of his time exploring and familiarizing himself with the large area, from the very corners of Heather Village, to the very back forests and farmlands. The hospice area was not unfamiliar territory to him, in fact, when Irene had narrated her story, he could clearly picture out her environment.<p>

His discovery of that tunnel threw something into the picture; the case of the nun. How she had been violated and found near the area, then Irene tells him of pursuers. The hospice had been there for a long time and surely the locals both in town and village would be respectful towards the nuns, unless the violator was foreign to the place. In his expeditions of the west land, he did not see anything such as an outhouse or a cottage that would serve as a hideout for anyone with evil intentions towards ladies.

That is, if it was not a cottage or an outhouse then surely even he would have missed it in a land of varied terrains. The west area was indeed a rough and ragged place and Holmes remembered a few jutting rocks and cave-like crevices that could fit a man. The tunnel may be the only thing to help him figure out this mysterious business. Holmes got up, pulled his jacket on, returned the cat inside its cage, and made his way.

He was once again at the dead end and contemplated the easiest way through the rocks and the dirt; one side of this on the floor was wet and muddy and he deemed that there must be water trying to get through from the other side. Deciding that this was the weakest spot of the dirt wall, he got on his knees and started digging.

He had not worked long when he heard the light steps of an unwelcomed follower behind him; with a slight of hand he pulled out his revolver and steadied its barrel between the person's eyes.

"What the _bloody_ hell are you doing here?" Holmes exclaimed in frustration and pocketed his gun.

The Woman merely blinked at the glare of Holmes' torch. "I saw you so I followed." She said as if discovering tunnels under her home was a usual thing.

"By God, you're not even dressed properly." She was only in her night dress, not even a dressing gown over the flimsy material, and in her silk slippers. He found it ironic that he spoke as if he was her father.

"Oh bother, I'm alright. Why don't you just go on and simply pretend I'm not here."

"I can't do that."

"Why?"

"Because you _are_ here."

"Then close your eyes so you won't see me."

"Well that's not going to work, is it?" he whispered vehemently.

Irene rolled her eyes and pushed him on. "You know you can't force me back, just keep digging, I'll help you."

He knew she was right and begrudgingly dug on. It took them a while to take out half of the earth, and when they were done, both were sweating with their exertions. Holmes glanced at Irene and wish he hadn't; her face and chest were flushed pink and the thin material of her night dress clung to her skin with the sweat leaving almost little to the imagination. Then there was something else.

_Was she wearing perfume at this time of night?_

She wiped her brow with the back of her hand and saw him staring. She snapped her fingers in front of his face and pointed forward. "Concentrate." She said sternly.

They crossed the dirt barrier and somehow Holmes wasn't surprised to see an intersection of tunnels; three led forward in different directions; two of these were dirt but the one in the middle was, and there was another that was also brick lined and led back to the direction of the mansion.

"It must be another entrance." Irene whispered.

Holmes nodded and trudged forward and took the middle tunnel. The floor became wet and the brick floor had eroded on one side where water ran; a spring had erupted somewhere ahead. The trip together was short because the tunnel stopped to a dead end where the spring water had forced its way through the bricks and to their left was a low door less entrance. Holmes and Alder exchanged looks and proceeded.

It was an empty cellar of some sort; a short corridor with two doors on both sides and a step ladder at the end. Holmes listened for a moment and, judging that no one was around, went towards the end of the room. There was another trap door above the ladder, he placed his ear to this and listened for a while then pushed the door open a bit. He can't see anything in the dark but his ears were greeted by the squeaking of a hundred bats; just as he suspected, they were under a cave. Ensuring that they were indeed alone, he inspected the four other rooms.

"I've heard of this place." Irene said. "Alfred's told me that in previous generations, the family's fortunes were always in danger of being stolen, and to safeguard their most valuable possessions they hid it in an underground room. Sometimes it was big enough for all of them. Alfred only heard the stories, and didn't know if they existed himself. It seems like this is it."

"Yes," Holmes said as he went around, "and Barrington has some uninvited boarders in here. There are sleeping mats in one of the rooms, the fire place has been used often and the place is filthy with animal bones and fruit peelings."

Irene wasn't surprised, but simply nodded and showed she understood where this was leading.

"Whoever stays here were the nun's violators. You could see by their way of living that they're obviously not happy homemakers." He regarded as he looked around from room to room. "They could also be connected to your abductors."

"They've been here that long, huh?" she joined him in the dining room. "But who are they and what do they want?"

"I think I know who," he picked something from under the table; a wooden stick at least six inches long that slightly narrowed from one end to the other, "but not quite sure yet as to their objective." He twiddled the stick between his fingers.

"Is that," she peered at the stick, "a chopstick?"

But Holmes wasn't able to reply because they heard the hinges creak and the slam of wood as the trap door fell on the cave floor. Loud incoherent conversation filled and echoed inside the room. Holmes grabbed Irene's arm and pulled her near the fire place. He saw a niche just behind the hearth earlier as he scanned the room, he pushed her into it, extinguished the torch in a bucket of water beside the hearth and slid in after her just in time as the door opened and their hosts entered.

The niche looked bigger when he first saw it, but as he stood with his back poker straight against the brick wall and Irene's forehead gently touching his nose, he regarded it too small for two people. Two people who had issues of personal space against each other.

"Well this is cozy." She whispered. Her breath tickled his Adam's apple.

Holmes pressed a finger to her lips to keep her quite, and listened intently to what was going on at the other side of the wall.

There were four men as he noted the number of different voices and they were talking in a language Holmes didn't understand; Mandarin. Although he had it coming he didn't expect it, and since no good can be taken from eavesdropping on their conversation, he listened to what they were doing. His top most priority for now was to get himself and Irene out of there, alive and unseen. It was imperative that their visit remained unknown to the men. He was hoping they'd leave the cave once more.

They were laughing heartily as if over success and he heard the squawking of a duck, then he heard the swift swipe of a cleaver as it hacked through meat and wedged into the wood of the table then there was a faint aroma of blood. The men were going to have a feast and there goes his hopes of getting out quickly. They prattled on in Mandarin as they cleaned the carcass, lit the fire and went about their ways, oblivious to two foreign presences.

A few minutes later Irene gasped and pushed herself into him.

"What?" he whispered as softly as he could.

"The wall." She groaned into his neck.

It occurred to him that the wall Irene had her back to, is the back wall of the fire place and as the men had lit it for their cooking it was warming up and Irene will get scorched. They obviously showed no signs of leaving soon and the fire could be left on for the night since the room was cold. Holmes did the only thing possible to ease her discomfort; he slowly switched places with his back to the warming up wall. He had a jacket on; heat was not a problem as long as his skin wasn't burnt, unlike Irene who only wore a night dress.

He should not have reminded himself of that.

The men were now eating and they heard the tapping of chopsticks on wooden bowls and the merry laughter. If only he understood what they were saying, he knew they would be talking about their next move. But since his mind did not register a single word of the conversation, his thoughts had drifted to the next closest thing to think about. The heat from the wall, although bearable, had radiated into their small niche; they began to sweat again. Holmes hoped the men had a poor sense of smell because Irene's perfume was slowly driving him mad.

Then Irene let out a small peep. Before he could ask, she had thrown her arms around his neck and kicked her way upwards in a frenzy until she finally stopped with her arms tightly embracing his head and her legs thrown around his waist. She was breathing nervously and he felt her chest pounding against his cheek.

He held her by the waist to stop her from slipping. "Wha-"

Then he felt something small and fuzzy ran in numbers over his feet: Rats, numerous rats. The room was filthy and littered with animal bones and fruit refuse and the rats where scurrying about for these wastes. The rats must've followed the men in.

Irene had panicked and almost blew their cover because of rats, the idea made him chuckle in his throat. Apparently she felt he was laughing and landed a gentle box to his ear. He responded by dropping her and she scampered up into his arms once more. Holmes wanted to laugh so badly.

_She has a pet wolf but rats scare her_. He chuckled. Then he stopped.

Irene's heart was pounding in her chest. She hated rats. She hated it back in the day when her shady missions took her into the slums of London or deep inside the sewers where there were always rats. Now Sherlock Holmes was just laughing at her, she was a woman after all, she could have her own peeves, and hers were rats. She hit him then he dropped her. She flustered again and this time she was really heaving with agitation. She hated Holmes right now.

Then that hate turned to surprise.

Holmes lips had found their way to the spot below her ear.

_No, he's just leaning in, the wall must be getting too hot for his head…_

But it didn't stop there. He trailed light kisses on the sensitive skin below her jaw and his stubble tickled her, then his tongue flicked out and licked her pulse.

The man's brain must've been baked by the heat because this was crazy. They were inside enemy quarters, hiding with no other way out, and he decides to have his way with her. A hand that was supporting her at the waist had now found itself to her backside and it felt deliciously warm. Her thoughts were cut short when Holmes gently nipped at her collar bone.

Irene landed another blow to the side of his head, hoping he would regain sanity, and tried to push him away from her but only do so much in the cramped space. He responded by pushing her up against the wall.

She gave up fighting, not because she was tired, but because Holmes was making her weak. Every kiss he landed burned, every time his tongue tasted her sent chills down her spine and every time his breath ghosted her skin she would shiver. His hands were hot and groping where he held her and so near to her core she could explode. Irene was dizzy, and found instead on pushing him away, she was pulling him closer.

She felt him unbutton her night dress with his teeth. One by one as the pearl buttons gave way, he kissed the exposed skin of the valley underneath. If there was space, Irene would've thrown back her head. Slowly and torturously Holmes' lips made their way to the middle of a mound and she dug her nails into his jacket in anticipation.

His lips hovered in front of a taut peak and as his breath teased it tighter Irene felt the sweat pour from her face and her lungs were burning. Then he took her into his mouth.

If they were anywhere but here, she would have moaned with pleasure and she would let him have her for the night. But they were inside the cellar, with four oblivious but armed men in the same room, and any small sound from her would not only get them killed, but would show Holmes that she was weak. There was nothing worse than that.

The pleasure escalated from there when somehow his hand found itself under her night dress and his fingers slowly inched towards her center. He slipped one finger between her wet folds and a wave of pleasure overcame her. She grabbed his head and crashed her lips on to his to stop herself from moaning.

Only to be stopped by something cold and hard.

Her silver dog whistle was in his lips and he was blowing on it with a smug look on his face.

It was all just to tease, unwind, and expose her. He admits it was. But he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy every second of it. Now as he blew on the dog whistle, hoping that Beast would hear it, he saw with what little light in the place the look of horror and realization on The Woman's face.

Holmes-1, Irene-0

She had succumbed to his actions; there was nothing more pleasurable to him than the look of defeat on her face, other than the act of pleasuring her and making her come undone in his arms.

But setting those thoughts aside, Holmes blew continuously at the whistle neither they nor those men could hear. Then the squeaking of hundreds of bats became louder and closer accompanied by the flapping of countless wings. The men, who had been noisily enjoying their meal, had gone quiet; they were wondering why the bats had gone amok. Then they screamed and yelled; the bats had come in into the room. The men had left both the trap door, and the door room open, allowing the bats to swarm inside.

Irene suddenly sneezed; the kind of sneeze that would wake up a sound sleeper in the middle of the night.

Holmes froze and glared at her. _Of all times!_

With her softest voice, she had the gall to ask. "Do you have a cat or something? That's the only thing I'm allergic to."

Apparently the men had heard her too, because they had stopped yelling, but they were still inside the room. Holmes heard a gun being cocked and could feel them approach the hiding place. He blew on the whistle again hoping against hope, the bats swarmed up even more but the men paid no attention. In his head Holmes was mentally skinning Molls.

_Irene is allergic to cats!_

There was a loud growling, then ferocious barking. This time the men yelled in fright and Holmes heard them make a run for their lives out the trap door.

Holmes checked the surrounding after the yells had died down and saw what had frightened the Chinamen; in the faint light of the place he saw the outline of a wolf near the tunnel entrance

"Beast? How did you-?" Irene said in surprise.

"There are other tunnels into this place, you've seen the dirt tunnels," he dusted himself; "they open to small caves. I was hoping he'd catch the whistle and make for the entrance nearest to him. Good boy Beast."

Irene embraced the animal and quickly made their way back.

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><p><strong>AN: REVIEWS! . . .please. hahaha. If anybody caught Molls' Yoda moment then you guys are awesome. LOL.**

**I'm more of a dog person, but I want a cat like Napoleon so bad. Also, if you've read Elizabeth Goudge's The Little White Horse or watched the movie Secrets of Moonacre, I modeled Beast after Wrolf. I love that book so much. It inspired me to write stories set in the English country side.**

**So what d'you think? Is the case slowly coming to a close? Are the pieces complete? And why the hell did Holmes have to do all that just to get Irene's dog whistle? Yeah that's right, because you guys want smut!**

**But no, really, I love you guys. ^_^**

**-Jacques Sparreaux**


	17. Death Threats for Breakfast

**A/N: I cannot tell you guys how much I hate myself for making you wait this long! Over a month! My God, I swear, I won't disappoint you like this next time. It's just that the semester was ending and I was like 'I'll finish this chapter so I can concentrate on exams and projects' But nooooo, school is so much more important to me now and well, lets face it, if I start writing, I can't stop, I can't study. I'll fail. haha But my Finals for this semester just ended two days ago so I am now on Semestral Break for like two weeks till next semester starts and I already have finished up until chapter 19 (Did it in 2 days! You guys should be proud of me) which I will gradually update during my break.**

**Just shouting out to some of my readers out there. ThornSharp, liine, faeryenchanter, newmixgirl, EmpireAnt, Nim, Lola, Myxolydian, StardustFromThePlanetGallifr ey, Inkpot full of ink, Misyel, Creed Vs Deadpool, EchoGirl319, AnnonymousInkpot, Indigomyst00, and also to etin and my other readers, those who have accounts and those who don't (like a certain Guest, I dunno if its the same person, or you guys just like to be called guests) Thanks so much for the support and to those who still read this, those who faved and added this story to their alert list. You guys keep me going! I'm sorry I can't reply with PMs to all of you, and to those who I sometimes correspond to, really sorry for not PMing back, I am a heck of a lazy person. XD  
><strong>

**(Plug In: Read etin's Sherlene fic 'Diamond')**

**So here is chapter 17**

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><p><strong>Death Threats for Breakfast<strong>

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><p>"We need to go to London." Irene said.<p>

Not being able to see anything in the dark on their way back, Holmes and Irene both placed a hand on the wolf's back between them and followed his lead, although he knew there was another reason why Irene had put the animal between them. When she spoke, her voice was devoid of any hurt or emotion as to what had transpired minutes ago, as if she decided to forget about it or it never happened at all. Holmes thought it was better that way.

"And why is that?" He replied. He didn't oppose to the suggestion since he did intend to go back to London.

"Those men, they had said so."

"Excuse me, what?"

"They were talking about having finished their work here and that their master is going to meet them tomorrow and that they'll be taken back to London."

"Again, what?"

Irene scoffed in annoyance. "Don't you get it? That was why they were celebrating, I'm sure there's something else they'd have to do in London, that's why we have to go there. We should follow them! Who knows what their up to or who they'll kill next?"

"No, I mean, yes dear, I got that. But I- uh- You speak Mandarin?"

As if a wall appeared in front of her, that Irene stopped in her tracks. "You don't?" she said, her voice taunting and unimpressed. If she could see in the dark she would see his scowl.

"I see, of course, you were trained by Moran in Asia for years." He walked on.

"Tortured more like it, I had to learn to understand to survive there." her voice was cold then she waved away the thought. "Wait, didn't you say you know who's behind this?"

"I have my suspicions." His thought was on the men's nationality. "But there are plenty of them here, traders I mean, we can suppose they are working together, but somehow it doesn't fit, and operations would be easier if there was one who's in charge of it all, although I have my sights set, I am not certain."

"Then we'll find out when we get to London."

They had reached the stairs that led to the broom cupboard. Irene ruffled Beast's head and the creature made its way back to one of the cave entrances where he probably entered. Holmes escorted her back to the West wing and they tiptoed through the dark corridors.

"I believe I'm only permitted until here." He said as they stood on the landing in front of the West Wing entrance.

"Yes, I believe you are." Irene faced him; the moonlight flooding through the tall windows illuminated her pale skin under her thin clothing making it glow ethereally through the material. "Goodnight Mr. Holmes."

"Goodnight Miss Adler." He nodded and turned on his heel.

* * *

><p>Another blizzard raged ruthlessly that early morning and went on till noon. Nevertheless, Meldowney was still a busy place for it was the triplets' 17th birthday, and although it was just an afternoon tea party, nothing could be called simple, especially under Lady Myrtle's supervision. Certain guests were to arrive despite the weather, for the widow was certain it would clear in the afternoon and the best preparations where under way.<p>

Curtains, drapes, and even upholstery in the entire first floor social halls had been changed to fit the color scheme: Purple. Floors were mopped and waxed, furniture were polished and shined, flower arrangements were everywhere, and the hungry stomachs of the household workforce grumbled at the delicious wafting from the kitchens.

All this fuss and you would think the Queen herself was invited.

John Watson could offer no help and did his best not to get in the way. But since reading all morning in his room gained him a telling off from his wife (she was busy helping around the house), and relocating to the sitting room gained the ire of the busy maids, he despondently decided to look for his friend. After asking Holmes' whereabouts to a number of people, it was Irene who managed to tell him where he was and handed him their post for the day.

Watson trudged the distance between the mansion to the stables in his thickest coat, and limped on his cane slowly against the bitter winds. There in the barn of red brick and old wood he found his friend. Holmes lounged on a hay stack with ivory pipe between his teeth and strumming his Stradivarius lazily across his lap. The moment Watson entered he raised his pipe in greeting then he resumed his musical droning.

"I like what you've done with the place." Watson commented. Goat pelts where nailed to the wooden walls preventing the cold from seeping in, hay had been strewn generously on the corners of the room, and a blazing fire on the spit in the middle warmed everything. "Even your companions seem to enjoy it." He pointed out as the horses stuck out their heads from their stalls towards the heat. "Although the choice of company you have does surprise me. Horses, Holmes, I thought you hated them?"

Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "Hate," he twanged on his violin, "is only applicable when they are bobbing up and down between my legs."

The doctor grimaced, "Thank you for that wonderful mental image."

Holmes merely twanged again.

Watson sat on a stool beside the fire. "Post came in early today despite the weather."

"Did the postman show up frost bitten at the doorway?" He smirked, the ivory of the pipe outshining his yellowish teeth.

"No, Irene handed it to me."

Holmes' smirk dropped and his features became stony at the mention of her. Watson ignored this and went on. "Looks like you've got a death threat, again." He took a sealed envelope from his jacket and threw it on Holmes' lap.

"Oh really?" Holmes sat up, vitality renewed. "Pshaw! I eat death threats for breakfast!"

Watson rolled his eyes. "I went through it for good measure although there's not much to read."

The words were cut out from a news paper and pasted on parchment:

_Enough with your meddling._

_Be that or death._

Watson glanced at his friend whose expression had not changed at all. "Well?"

"It's the same person." Holmes said and he scrutinized the entire letter.

"Same person who?" Watson furrowed his brows at his friend. Holmes remembered he had not disclosed the details of the seven letters to the doctor.

"Very well the same person who orchestrated all this drama." Then he proceeded to tell him all about the letters.

"Then how do you say it is the same person?" the doctor asked after he had learned everything.

"Simple, you would know by the direct manner and simple sentences used. As for the cut outs," he pointed to the pasted words. "Our sender does not know about my finding of the letters, thus felt the need for anonymity, and I must say I have built quite a character out of her."

"_Her?" _

"Yes, a woman."

"Adler?"

"No, I highly doubt it,; Adler is too showy and proud to keep us guessing. Now to the details." He flicked the letter flat open in front of Watson. "It is either it was her indeed who composed this or someone she had told the very words. The words were cut from yesterday's evening paper for the word 'meddling' is not commonly used than the others and I have encountered it in my evening read. It was obviously sent right away after it was composed. The paper used is common and cheap. The sender used a pair of dull shears, note how ragged the edges are, and used…" he squinted closely at the letter and then licked the surface.

"Oh _God,_ Holmes! That's disgusting!"

Holmes merely smacked his lips. "Yep, just as I thought, pigs' fat. The paste used is fresh pigs' fat. What do you take from that my dear doctor?"

"That our sender-"

"Is a poor person! Yes! Indeed, good job doctor! So it could not be our own Adler for her rich tastes is known throughout Europe and America." Holmes clapped enthusiastically. "A butcher would be it, but also they could be neighbors or simply has a source." He got up and paced the floor, kicking up hay as he went. "So our dear madam employs another person to safety her trace…"

He pulled at the growth on his chin and his face grew darker by the second. "Watson I believe this topic has run its course for now" he turned to his seat and picked up his affects. "I shall let it fester in my mind till it spawns into a fresh culture of ideas, let us go back and I will gladly enjoy a different topic of conversation." Then he kicked away all the hay he had sat on, took a crowbar from the corner and pried at the edges of what appeared to be a trap door.

"Holmes! What is this?!"

"Oh just a product of my nocturnal investigations." He smiled and yanked it open. "I had encountered it last night and found good use for it; I mean who would be stupid enough to venture through that terrible blizzard if an underground tunnel was present."

Watson frowned.

"Of course not you my friend." He smiled again then disappeared through the trap door.

They walked in slowly in the light of a torch Holmes had procured.

"Holmes, wait."

He stopped. "What is it?"

"This tunnel, do you think the stable boy-?"

"That the stable boy's killer had used this? Of course, it was the first to come to mind when I saw the passage." Then to save time from Watson's questions, Holmes told him about last night's findings, albeit leaving out Irene from the details.

The moment they emerged out the broom cupboard, Holmes was almost run over by a maid rushing past with a tea trolley from the kitchen and the thoughts of the case were replaced by the hustle and bustle of the mansion.

"Myrtle Barrington's got the household into a frenzy." the doctor said as they walked the halls, "You can't _touch_ anything, you can't _taste_ anything, and you can't _sit_ anywhere! Everything has to be perfect, she keeps yelling at everyone, and I would calm her down to prevent that vein on her temple from popping but she's too strung up about this party. Imagine the tirade she let out this morning when they discovered muddy paw prints up on the new curtains. She's had the gardener and the butlers out to look for that cat!"

Holmes stopped dead on his tracks.

"Are you alright?" Watson managed to ask before his friend sprinted off to the direction of their rooms.

* * *

><p>"Seriously, we have been looking for this creature for an hour already. How can you be so careless to leave the cage open?" Watson snarled as he flicked away a spider on his shoulder.<p>

Holmes had traced the cat's white hair from his room, and the doctor was dragged along for the search. They followed it into the upper West Wing and that was why they were ducking underneath a skirted table hidden from sight.

"It's not an ordinary cat I tell you." Holmes snapped back.

"Here we go…" Watson rolled his eyes.

"It's a minx! It's the Devil's cat! I don't mean to sound superstitious-"

"You do…"

"-but the moment I saw those slits for eyes I knew this cat would be the undoing of me."

"I though only Adler was the undoing of-"

"Hush, Watson! There the beast walks!" He pointed as the cat slinked down the hall just a few yards from them. He pressed a finger to his lips then slowly and quietly slipped from under their hiding place and stalked after it. Watson begrudgingly followed suit. The cat walked on without notice, swishing its tail proudly in the air, as they tiptoed after it.

"What are you doing?"

The Doctor swung around to greet their discoverer: Georgina Harrison.

"You aren't allowed in here!" She said indignantly.

"No time for her now Watson, the cat!"

The cat had been startled by the noise and ran, Holmes pouched after it, hot and surprisingly fast on his heels. Watson ran after them, hoping to lose the old woman pursuing them. The West Wing was not just a simple corridor of rooms, but a small labyrinth of interconnected sitting rooms, closets, and galleries filled with lacey draperies, pastel walls, flowers, and smelled strongly of extravagant perfumes. They ran around, in and out among these rooms; Holmes pursuing the cat, and Watson running away from Harrison's deadly grasp.

The cat took a sharp right into a room, and Holmes lunged, his face colliding with the carpeted floor.

A small scream and then… "Mr. Holmes? What are you doing here?"

He looked up and saw a surprised Terry sitting in front of her vanity with Napoleon on her lap. At that instant Watson ran into the room, tripped over Holmes and fell on his back,

"So nice of you to join me, doctor." He grunted under Watson's weight.

Harrison caught up with them. "Aha! I've got you now! You'll be kicked out of this mansion within the blink of an eye." She grabbed them both by the collars and with surprising strength raised them almost off their toes.

"Clearly I think that would be logically impossible for I've blinked twice now and we're still here." Holmes reasoned.

"Silence! You perverts know better." She eyed them both with disgust.

"Mrs. Harrison!" Terry rose from her seat with Napoleon in her arms. "Please don't be unkind to my guests."

The woman looked at her incredulously. "These men are your guests?" She let go of their collars.

"Yes, of course. Why else would they be here?"

Harrison looked like she was about to say something foul about them but thought better. "Alright young miss, what then would be the reason for their unusual visit?"

Terry showed no hesitation on her face when she cuddled the cat. "To give me this beautiful creature, as a present, it is my birthday after all."

Holmes felt himself glow in admiration for her wit.

"In here, in your private quarters?" Harrison mocked almost too unkindly. "I remember hearing you ask in surprise why Mr. Holmes here suddenly burst through your door."

Holmes saw a flicker of panic in Terry's eyes for a second. "Because they are men, Mrs. Harrison."

"They are _men? _Clearly they are, but by that you mean?"

"They don't ask for directions." She said as if this was the most obvious thing.

Holmes and Watson exchanged looks; neither had an idea where this interrogation was going. But Holmes knew he could trust Terry to get them out of trouble.

"Really Miss Barrington, it would be better to tell if these men are harassing you instead of-"

"They aren't harassing me." Terry said, then she lit up as though she'd just remembered a speech she was memorizing,. "But yes, they don't ask for directions! I've had arranged to meet with Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson in the West Wing's major sitting room, exceptions could be made for it is a special day for me. But clearly with that pride that precedes all men, they have lost their way and found themselves under your pursuit and here."

Holmes saw a bead of sweat trickle down the side of her face. He wouldn't be surprised if she took a bow after that magnificent alibi. He looked at Harrison whose brows were knotted together in contemplation.

"I still don't believe it." She said dryly.

"Believe it _nanny._ Now won't you kindly prepare tea for our company and we will transfer to the sitting room as planned?" then she pushed the old woman out her door.

"I can't thank you enough Miss Barrington." Watson said as they sat down with their tea.

They were in the large sitting room of the West Wing that served as the sister's common room and everything was a shade of the colors corresponding to their names. On the other side of the room were Lavender and Violet sitting in front each other and applying cosmetics to the other's face, almost as if their own mirrors, but otherwise completely occupied by their activity and ignored the other three.

Holmes scowled at the vainglorious sight and smiled at Terry instead. "Wonderful isn't she Watson? Women with minds like these don't come by the hundreds. Ms. Purple is part of very rare specie that it is such an honor to be her acquaintance."

Terry waved his compliments away. "That's too much Mr. Holmes, but I do admit to having a knack for extemporized excuses. I wouldn't be outside on horseback whenever I like if I don't come up with one." She stroked the content and docile Napoleon on her lap. "Oh, I almost forgot." She picked up the cat and handed it over to him.

Holmes reached out and Napoleon hissed.

"Keep her." Watson said with a smile.

"What?"

"_What?"_ Holmes glared at him, arms still outstretched.

Watson pushed Holmes' arms out of the way. "As a thank you gift, also, of course as a birthday gift. The cat has proven to be trouble for the household and only you managed to tame it."

This time Holmes hissed.

"And you've mentioned that this meeting was about giving you the cat. It would be proven false by Mrs. Harrison once she sees it is not in your possession and could jeopardize our stay here."

Holmes saw reason in this and put down his arms.

"Right Holmes?"

He grunted and met Terry's happy eyes sans the purple colored glass lenses. "Well, you both have the same eyes. It seems only right to give her to you.

Terry gave a small yelp of delight. "Oh thank you so much Dr. Watson! Mr. Holmes! I shall take care of dear-"

"-Napoleon."

"-_Napoleon! _Oh what a lovely name! You won't regret giving her to me."

Holmes smiled. "Happy Birthday Terry."

"Such a sight! Both touching and scandalous," Irene's American accent came from the door. "Two men, alone with three under-age girls in a women-only room; scandalous indeed." She leaned on the door frame with arms crossed and gave a sly smirk at Holmes' direction.

Terry, apparently familiar with Irene's pointed words ran to her with Napoleon in arms. "Look Irene! Isn't she lovely?"

"Keep it at a distance sweetheart, I'm allergic to cats. But won't you look at those eyes, now that's just endearing of Mr. Holmes pick out such a pet." She shot him another pointed look. "Happy Birthday dear." She kissed Terry on the forehead. "Lottie! Lola! Come now, the guests are arriving." She called to the twins and the two trotted out the room.

Terry made to follow her sisters, but approached Watson first. "Thank you so much Doctor." She shook his hand and went to Holmes. "And especially to you too Mr. Holmes." She pecked his cheek before running out with the cat in her arms.

Watson laughed. "It seems like she's taken a fancy to you, old cock."

"Don't be preposterous Watson." He scoffed.

"I know you boys would love to stay for the tea party," Irene interrupted. They forgot she was still in the room. "But something else in town might interest you." Her tone was dark. "Come on, Hopkins is waiting with a carriage just outside."

* * *

><p>Irene sat next to him in the carriage, and when Watson wasn't looking, she whispered into his ear. "So you did have a cat."<p>

The blizzard of the morning had died down to a gentle snowfall in the early afternoon. Everything on their way was whitewashed and piled on with snow. Holmes wouldn't be surprised if the barn horse that pulled their carriage would collapse halfway to town what with the thigh-deep cold junk it trudges through. Town itself was covered but fast enough to recover, the roads were shoveled clear, people had gone out and went on with their business trying to make most of what's left with the day, and the buzzing din of the urban area creep warmth into his ears much like London's noise would comfort him on a lonely winter.

Their carriage took a turn to a domestic part of town, and what was once known as a quite street was now packed with people; residents, children, constables, and busybodies were all crowded around a central area: a telegraph post.

Hopkins put the carriage to a stop and they got out. From their spot outside the throng of people, they could see with a bit of clarity just what the center of attention was. Irene had said it was a murder and a surprise in one, and he was indeed surprised, for what form of murder there was, he did not expect it at all. He saw Watson's jaw drop as he climbed out the carriage, catching snowflakes in his mouth.

"I-is that a _man_ crucified to the post?" The Doctor asked with a bit of uncertainty.

Holmes patted his shoulder. "You, my friend, have a gift for stating the obvious. Question now is _why._" Then he tipped his beat up fedora lower on his face, thrust his hands into his pockets and elbowed his way into the crowd.

Huge and able-bodied constables surrounded a three meter radius around the post, keeping out people who had no business from contaminating the crime scene. Inside that secure circle were Sachs and two of his men.

"Ah Holmes, you've made it. Always the bloodhound when sniffing out a crime, aren't you?" he said when he spotted the detective just outside the police circle. "I was on my way to informing you actually, who was the little bird you told you?"

"A little swift by the name Stanley Hopkins perched day and night just outside of your building to bring me news of development. I hope you don't mind though, he's very useful with information gathering; I do quite relish a certain post he sent about your mum visiting over the weekend." He smirked when the inspector's ears turned red.

"I don't quite see how that's relevant to your business."

"I am Sherlock Holmes after all; it is my business to put my nose into other people's business, for example; what's this bloke doing up there?" he pointed to the corpse on top.

"He's been nailed to the post." Sachs grumbled.

"You don't say." Holmes sighed. "Why isn't he taken down yet?"

"Some of our lighter officers have volunteered to climb up and have tried, but the wood is too old and rotten that even Rogers over here," he gestured to the skinny and frail constable beside him, "made a lot of creaking noises with not even a yard of the ground."

"How long has he been up there?"

"Bystanders say ever since the weather cleared, that poor blighter's been up there. Must've been put up during the blizzard, but that would be impossible."

Holmes contemplated for a moment; he encircled the post tapping the lowest part of the wood with his boot, then the ground around it, he scrutinized the building's wall beside the post, he stared up the post for a while, punched the wood lightly, and tapped on it gently with his ivory pipe, then he put it back between his teeth and went back to Sachs.

"Height is of an estimated six yards high. Hmmm… A huge roll of canvas matting and the assistance of your healthier constables is all I need from you; I'll be back in a moment." He crossed the police circle and searched for his companions, when he spotted them; he grabbed Irene by the arm and dragged her through the crowd back into the circle.

"Ow!" she seethed when he let go. "It would be nicer if you said you need my help."

"I need your help."

"Well not now!" she rolled her eyes, "Never mind, what is it for anyway?" He simply looked at her, then up at the corpse. Irene's eyes widened. "Oh no, not me! Not in this weather and certainly not in this dress!"

Holmes just looked up at the corpse again, as if there was no other choice.

"But Holmes, she's only a woman, a fragile thing." Sachs butted in.

"Exactly!_—_wait—_What?!" _She snapped at the constable

"You'll be eating your words Sachs, trust me" Holmes said, eyes still on Irene.

"Sherlock, I am soon to be _Lady Barrington_, do you know what that would be like if these people saw me clambering up that post? Doctor, help me out here, won't you?" She turned to Watson who followed them into the circle.

Although Watson looked like he was about to side with Irene, Holmes glared at him and he sighed. "He's right Ms. Adler, you seem to be the most capable of us here, your size is appropriate for the task and you have… _experience_ dealing with lofty unreachable places." He said the last words that wouldn't give away Irene's shady past to the listening constables.

Irene groaned. "Fine! But I won't do it in front of all these people."

"That could be arranged," Holmes said and turned to Sachs, "I want the place cleared of bystanders."

Sachs scoffed. "Ha! Tell me when you accomplish that last one, we've been trying ever since the blizzard cleared up to shoo away these nosy people."

Holmes raised an eyebrow. "Clearly you weren't trying hard enough."

He pulled out his revolver and fired three times to the sky. The shots rang through the cold air and needless to say the place cleared in a second, leaving the police force and Holmes' company in the once more lonely street.

"_Unnecessary roughness, Mr. Holmes!" _Sachs bellowed with covered ears.

"No my boy, in this situation anything is necessary. Irene now if you please, our dead man must be freezing up there."

Irene took off her cloak and with the nimbleness of a cat, made her way up, sometimes making use of foot holds in the bricks of the building and sometimes free climbing the wood itself; all that even in a cumbersome dress. The canvas matting was held up by the bigger policemen underneath her like a net, to catch her in case she fell, and to catch the now probably rigid and frozen body when she's done with her job. The time she was level with the frozen toes, her face was already numb and the cold had penetrated her dress.

"Are you by his feet now?!" Holmes yelled from bellow.

"Yes." Her teeth chattered.

"Good! Now take out that dagger that you keep in a sheath strapped to your leg and dig out the nails if there are any!"

Irene could see Watson smack a palm to his face, and the look of scandalized disbelief on each of the constables' faces. Deciding that they would forget the matter sooner or later, she did as she was told and extracted her knife from under her skirts careful enough not to give the men bellow a peek at her petticoats. There was one huge nail securing both feet to the wood, it had not been driven in fully and made taking it out easier. Climbing up to reach the arms was something she had not considered beforehand, she was not uncomfortable with the dead body, but she was put off by the idea of clutching to a buck naked cold corpse for dear life.

_Oh the irony._

Her face was already level with its neck and a little more, she would reach the arms and undo the ropes and nails. When she was done with the right, Irene turned to the left, and when her eyes met the frozen face, she gasped.

Then she felt her grasp slip.

Then she was falling.

* * *

><p><strong>Then she went ker-splat!<strong>

**A/N: I'm kidding, I would never do that to Irene. Anyhow, that's chapter 17. I'll put up 18 in probably the next 5 days, or if I get good enough reader traffic. hehe, sorry, I'm rather particular about audience. It's not that I need this story to be super popular, I just want to know how it fares to the general fanfiction reading public. If people like it or not, and if I'm making an impression on my readers.**

**I just realized that every time I write a chapter, it's like an episode of a series or something like that. It's not just a one scene chapter that ends with a cliffie and continues to the next scene on the next chapter. I like to write each chapter with a focal point, a mini climax of sorts, and yes, cliff hangers like this one. Maybe I just watch too much situation comedies and series. XD**

**BTW If you guys liked the title of this chapter and Holmes' line of the similar words, that phrase was actually popularized by a very influential and powerful woman senator from my country; Senator Miriam Defensor Santiago. She freakin' kicks ass with just her words and kicks out corrupt officials from their positions. She gets a lot of death threats back in the day, until now I guess, and yeah, she still eats death threats for breakfast. Like Holmes.**

**I wonder if they taste like ice cream...**

**- JS**


	18. A Case of Identity

**A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed! Indigomyst00, ThornSharp, and Newly Sherlocked.**

**And as I promised. Chap 18**

* * *

><p><strong>A Case of Identity<strong>

* * *

><p>There was an incessant loud shrill ringing.<p>

Then there were distant voices…

Footsteps on marble floors…

A small scratching noise…

Someone nearby yawned…

But the ringing still continued.

It was a telephone.

_Somebody please answer that contraption!_

Wait… since when did she own a telephone?

Although her lids felt heavy, Irene opened them a little. All her eyes could manage was a blurry face in front of her.

_The face…_

She sat bolt right up gasping for air as the chill she felt earlier came back.

"Irene!" The blurry faced man rushed to her side. "What's the matter? Don't get up too quickly, you might faint again." Then he pushed her gently back down on the bed.

"Doctor? What happened? Where am I?" she felt around her body and realized she was in a thick black corduroy outdoor coat with only her chemise underneath and her hair was loose.

"You're in the infirmary wing of the police station."

_That explains the telephone…_

"It's been an hour since you fainted. It was very fortunate they caught you with the canvass mat. Although you don't seem to have any illness, I concluded slight hypothermia and lack of oxygen up there."

"Also, don't forget, shock." Holmes' voice added.

She turned to her left and saw him sitting beside the bed. His fedora tipped over his face concealing one eye, ivory pipe between his teeth and arms crossed closely over his body. She could tell he was slightly cold and realized that the coat she was wearing was his.

"How are you feeling?" he asked; his one eyed gaze was warm and concerned.

"I'm alright…" she said, pulling his coat tighter around her.

"That's good, now we can get back to work." The warm gaze disappeared. "The victim, our winter time Jesus Christ, you recognized him."

"Holmes," Watson interrupted, sitting on the foot of her bed. "I don't think she's in the condition to-"

"No, I'm fine Doctor, and yes. I recognized him. He was that man I had told you about. The man I met on the road before I was abducted."

Holmes nodded. "You do realize now Ms. Adler, that that man was a vital part of this case?"

Irene shrugged. "No, why, who is he?"

"The man I had planned to search the entire London for." He uncrossed his arms and propped his elbows to his knees, fingers meeting in front of his face. It was that look that said things had not gone his way and a new plan was currently in thought. "Now he's here in our lovely rural town, frozen to death, and entirely useless. They know of my methods of deduction based solely on a person's clothes, that's why they've stripped the poor man and nailed him alive on that unbecoming pedestal."

"So he is the doctor who had killed the old man a few weeks back, Turnstone?" Watson asked.

"That very person indeed old boy, now things must take a different turn from here."

"Wait, if I fainted, so how did you get the body down?" Irene blurted out in realization.

Holmes didn't answer but simply pointed to Watson with a knowing smirk.

Irene looked at the doctor with a wide eyed look of awe. "You went up there?"

Watson waved away her question and faced Holmes. "Don't you think the letter you received today meant this?"

Holmes' eyebrows were knotted. "The possibility is great but the timing is confusing. Had the murder not taken place today or the letter sent earlier than this morning, then I would assume so, but the two were almost simultaneous. Our autopsy showed the man had died on the post simply of hypothermia. He was put up during the blizzard, thus the reason why no one had seen the felony being conducted, nailed to the post and left to freeze. How this was accomplished is beyond me, but I would say our men would have made great mountaineers. If the letter was about this death, then our foe is truly determined to get me off this case."

Irene had sat up as Holmes talked. "You seem to know so much about the killer already, and what of the letter?"

The two men exchanged looks, and Holmes said. "Maybe next time dear." Then he got up. "A nice cup of hot tea for all of us and a quick ride back to the mansion, then we shall be ready to leave for London."

"We're finally going back there? When?" Irene asked.

"As soon as possible." He relit his pipe and tossed Irene her clothes that hung on a chair. "I wouldn't want to be alone when I break it to Commissioner Lestrade that the man he was supposedly keeping an eye on was crucified a hundred miles away from him. He was having such a great time."

* * *

><p>The matter of the crucifixion had not escaped spreading into Meldowney territory, but Irene's fainting spell had not been told since the present people were sworn into confidence to avoid panic on Barrington's part, and the thought of Holmes handling the case was enough to comfort the populace.<p>

The birthday tea party had not long ended when they got back and Holmes was quickly called to Barrington's study. The man was bent over his desk, packing notebooks into a suitcase when he came in.

"You needed to see me, sir?"

"Come sit down, my friend, let me finish this for a while. Busy, busy month February is for me, meetings, dealings, and conventions here and there." The lord drabbled. When he was done, he sat on the chair across Holmes. "I've heard of the terrible brutality that happened in town today." He said with a somber voice. "Not to be intruding, but I do hope you are on you way to solving this nasty business?"

Holmes was used to being questioned. "Yes, it would take too much of your time if I had to lay it out by detail, and it is of habit for security reasons that I do not divulge my findings to the client during an investigation. But I assure you that your family's safety is a top priority that no matter how long this takes, they will be safe from harm."

Barrington smiled at this, his white handlebar mustache twitching upwards. "Yes, I know they will be. That is why I have called you here Mr. Holmes. Tomorrow I will leave for Edinburg for a convention, spring is nearing you see, and dealings will be plenty to prepare for this harvest, and once again I leave my family's safety in your hands. If you could discuss with me your plans for while I am away for the week?"

"Actually," Holmes lit his pipe. "I may have to leave too for a few days. The investigation's trail leads back to London and I cannot be here while our criminal is out in the city of five million."

Barrington leaned back in his chair, contemplating. "I see, I understand, but what of Meldowney? Is Dr. Watson staying with the ladies, and what of Ms. Adler?"

"Watson goes wherever I go and also his family for that matter, and as for your fiancé, I shall bring her with me to London also. I will leave her in the charge of my brother in his Pall Mall residence and I assure you that there is no safer place than under the watchful eye of Brother Mycroft. As for your family here, I would be humbling myself to say this, but they will be safe even without me, for I am now in the depths of the criminal matter that wherever I might go, trouble follows, and trouble finds me."

The lord nodded. "That is unfortunate, but I take your word for it. So when do you plan to leave?"

"Tonight, immediately."

"Tonight?! But that's too sudden!"

"Yes, that's why it is a perfect arrangement. The sooner we leave, the faster we accomplish my plans. But although I am sure of your home's security, not the same could be said for you. I still believe that there is a possible attempt on your life my lord, and if you would let me, I shall assign someone as your bodyguard for your trip."

"Well yes, as you wish Mr. Holmes."

Holmes smiled and went to the door; he poked his head out for a moment then came back in followed by a rather excited Hopkins.

"Inspector Stanley Hopkins sir, he is as efficient as I tell you he is. He will be by your side, day and night, he will review any letter you will receive and send, taste the food served to you and inspect every person that comes to you. He is in charge of your security and he answers only to me. Forgive his youth but do not underestimate his enthusiasm and capabilities. This is the best service I could offer you from my connections and I swear upon my good name, the moment you leave his side, you will be dead within the hour."

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><p>Entry by John H. Watson<p>

February 1, 1897

The moment we arrived at the mansion, I searched for my Mary.

Holmes had told me to be nonchalant and not to rush, but only the sight of my wife and child could ease me. We are now treading turbulent waters once more, and although Holmes may not see it, but fear creeps into my soul like a child's nightmare every time a case takes us deeper. The fear that consumes wartime men like me; the fear of going away full spirited but never being able to come home to a waiting family. I do not fear for my life, I'd gladly give it away for service, and had been doing so ever since I've met Holmes. But Mary changed it all. Holmes may have reignited my will to live in the name of service and action, but Mary gave me a reason to live, to live not for me, but for her and for our family.

Now that fear is back, and I could only hold myself together for so long before I'd let it eat me alive. I needed to see Mary, to see my Elizabeth and to tell them everything will be alright. I needed to hold them close to me and to push away the thoughts of not being there for them if anything happens to me. Mary knows this of me, and instead of being ashamed of such a frightful husband, she finds her way with words and kisses to comfort me. She may be a meek and gentle creature, but she is strong willed and determined. She had made Holmes promise that nothing untoward must happen to me in his company or else. Holmes never broke Mary's promises, lest he wanted to know what or else was.

She was in Elizabeth's room, tucking in our already sleeping daughter to an early bed time. I embraced her from behind, relishing her warmth that pervaded my cold soaked body, and inhaled that sweet scent that was Mary.

"Mary…"

She melted into my arms. "John…"

I turned her to face me, my hand molding into the curve of her back, the other to her chin. "I love you…" I kissed her.

She smiled against my lips. "I love you too…"

We held each other like that for a while but I knew preparations had to be done. We packed our things as I told her everything about today, and when we were done, we simply sat in silence holding each other with our sleeping child between us.

Holmes came by and called us out an hour later. Hopkins was to stay overnight in Meldowney, and we were to leave in his rented carriage with the dark to hide us. By the time dinner commenced in the mansion's dining room, Holmes, Mary, Elizabeth and I were off. It was a while until I realized I didn't know how our driver could navigate in the dark during a moonless night, and that was when I looked out the driver seat window and saw Irene Adler in her 'walking clothes' on the reigns. How she could see in the dark was a mystery until I remembered she had a wolf guardian. No doubt it was around and is the reason we had a safe travel. We rattled over a country road for almost an hour, but had not come to the train station. By this time I was starting to question Holmes' plans.

"If I remember correctly, the station was not more than three miles from town? Where are you taking us?" I whispered to him so not to wake my sleeping family.

"Don't worry Watson, you'll see quite soon. It's an essential little thing to my plan. You do trust me of course?"

"With my life." And that ended the conversation.

Holmes had that keen look on his face that would tell me he has a detailed plan in mind, and if I let him have his way, it would flow smoothly. After sometime, he slid open the small window that communicated with the driver's seat outside.

"Are we quite there yet darling?" he spoke to Irene with a playful tone.

"Not _quite_ yet." She replied; her voice was riddled with chattering teeth. "I've been following the directions you told me, but I see no villa in sight."

"Then why don't you use this map instead." He handed her one.

"Yes, because I can bloody read in the dark!" She snapped. Irene was obviously very cold outside already and Holmes' playful manner was bordering on the jesting and the cruel.

"Then light a lamp."

"But didn't you say-"

"Light the lamp."

It was not a few moments later when the lamp was glowing orange when from about a hundred yards to our right, I though I saw a flicker of light through the woods. Then it was no longer just a flicker, but a shaft of light being shone towards our direction. I saw Holmes smile.

"Sherlock?" Irene's uncertain voice came.

"Go straight into the light my dear."

It was Stanley the Butler signaling to us to come to his own humble little villa. The Holmes' servants were very efficient at the mansion and no doubt they know more about their youngest master than I do and were very adept in helping him out. The service there by one staggering old man alone was far more brilliant than a five star hotel, we were ushered in and warmed up and had a quick supper. There I was now eager to hear the rest of my colleague's plans as I sat beside my wife.

"It is rather simple actually, I shall need with me a John Watson to go back to London with, also an Irene Adler, whom will be left with my brother at Pall Mall for security reasons. The rest will be safe here." He stated.

I half expected Irene to be outraged by this plan to be such a weak display of her talents. She was not one to hide away for sure. But she just sat there, listening intently.

"Very well," I got up. "I trust my family under Stanley's care, as long as we were not followed. I am ready to make for London."

"Sit down Watson, _you_ will be staying."

"What?" I looked at him incredulously. "Didn't you just say you needed me with you?"

"No, I said I needed _a _John Watson. Not _you_ John Watson. And who else would do a great imitation as you other than Ms. Adler over here?" he gestured to the woman who stood up and took off her over coat; she was already in costume, and I recognized the suit Holmes had _borrowed_ from me to be the one she was wearing. They both had clearly made this plan without consulting with me first.

"Then if she's _me_, who will be _she, _because I will certainly not be getting into a dress?"

"Oh tut Watson, don't be silly, you'll make the dress look horrible. Why would you think that?"

I was very much confused that moment; there cannot be anyone else here to substitute as Ms. Adler… Unless... I saw Holmes looking at my wife with a scheming smile on his face.

"Oh no! Not Mary!"

He played deaf to me and took my wife by the hand. "Mrs. Watson, it is but just a small request from me that I shall need you."

Mary, who as it seems, was confused as I am, stuttered. "I-i-I don't quite understand it all Mr. Holmes. Why would I need to be disguised as Ms. Adler and her as John, if they could be themselves?"

"Because Ms. Adler's life is in grave danger."

"_Then why would you put my wife's life on the line?!"_ I found myself between the two and bellowing into my friend's face. I was shocked why he would have my wife be put in such a perilous position.

Holmes expression was unchanged, but when he spoke, there was understanding in his voice. "I would never do that to her, Watson. That is why she would be dropped off at Mycroft's place the moment we get to London. My brother could offer protection better than I could by simply the thought of it. Mary will stay there, she will be safe, and not a hair on her head will be out of place."

I fell into my seat, my face in my hands, the thought of her away from me and taking the role of someone who is in danger when she is so innocent of everything about this case was ripping me apart. I know I wanted this case solved, but to have my wife participate was never in my plans. But if I were to work with Holmes, then trust is the only thing I have.

Mary's hands pressed my shoulders gently. "It does seem to me a fool proof plan, John. Master Holmes is quite a company, and I know I will be safe under his protection."

I nodded to her, and she kissed my forehead. I turned to Holmes again. "Then what about me? Why should Irene take my place when she is in danger?"

"Reason number one, my friend: to leave Ms. Adler without my company would mean a funeral for her and not a wedding.

"Reason number two: I need someone to stay here, to become my look out, someone who could duplicate my methods, someone who knows how to reach me, and someone who knows when to come looking for me finally when the time comes.

"Reason number three: the plan of having Mary disguised as Adler is like killing two birds with one stone. No one has yet made an attempt at your wife's life to get to us, but that does not mean our current criminals would not have thought of it. Her being Adler, would not only safety her with Mycroft but safety Irene's disguise as you. And with that, my friend, comes with a great promise that you must, at no point in time whensoever, never be seen by anyone as yourself. That would give Irene away, that would give Mary away, that would cause everything to come crashing down. Do you understand?"

My head buzzed. I was to be so vital yet quite useless in this part of the investigation. It was not that I felt like I had something better in mind, but the pressure he had stated was a little too much to register.

"I understand… But why must Irene be me at all?"

"That brings us to reason number four: because the men I am in search of speak Mandarin, and we both know that neither of us speaks the language, yet Ms. Adler does. Our foe has eyes all around London and those eyes are accustomed to seeing you and I together during investigations. I need Adler's skill, and I need your appearance, it all comes off confusing at the beginning, but don't worry old boy, you'll understand." He patted me on the shoulder. "Now, its getting deeper into the night, we must go on with the needed disguises. Mrs. Watson, if you please, kindly step into that room with Ms. Adler."

The ladies disappeared in the room for a while, and while Holmes was silent, I held my still sleeping daughter on my lap. It was convenient that I should be left here; at least I would be protecting my daughter at any cost.

The doorknob turned, and I sat up in anticipation of my wife's transformation. The first to step out was Irene… or rather… _Me_… a shorter version of me… It was a magnificent duplicate, she had the hair right, the mustache, the nose, and that ever present twitch at the corner of my lips, the difference was her eyes were grey and mine were blue, but no one from afar could tell that flaw. All that's left was a slight limp. She walked towards us… and there the limp was… That moment there I could've gotten up and applauded her.

"Gentlemen." It felt odd to see 'me' speak in a woman's voice, so much more in an American accent. "I present Ms. Adler."

'Ms. Adler' stepped out of the room. And if I didn't know better, I would have believed it. Her blonde hair was concealed by a perfectly fitted brown wig, her eyes looked seductive and unrecognizable underneath the cosmetics, and her kind lips had turned into a sly crimson smile. Her corset had been pulled on tighter to make her waist smaller, and I never thought I'd see Mary in a bright dress that demanded attention. Only then I realized that I could be attracted to the likes of Irene Adler, only because it was actually my own wife underneath.

"Oh John, don't look at me." Mary's voice was the only thing to break the illusion and she shied away behind her hands.

"Don't be silly," I took her hand away from her face and just looked at her. "You look gorgeous."

"Why, thank you Doctor, that's actually the first time you've ever told me that." The real Irene Adler said with a light tone and she smiled her white teeth glinting behind her mustache.

That night held the most bizarre experience I have ever encountered in my life. It was amusing and bewildering, but I knew the purpose of it all was serious and should not be taken lightly. After they had prepared to leave, Holmes instructed me not to exit the house beyond the door. If I were to leave at anytime of the day, it must be in a disguise. Whenever he was this particular in instruction, I knew it was not to be taken for granted, and so Mary and I said our goodbyes in the house, she promised to keep in touch with Mycroft's name in the telegrams, then she kissed Elizabeth, and they were off to the train station.

I sit here now on my desk in the room Stanley had given to me. It is already one in the morning; Holmes' little party would have arrived at London three hours ago. A lot may have already happened, but my only concern was Mary getting to Pall Mall safely. She promised to wire me when she arrives and now I hold the small card that held her short message in my hands. They have arrived and she had immediately retired after having sent the telegram, yet I am sleepless with anxiety.

My next few days are uncertain to me as it always had during a case, but I shall be alert always for anything that may come as an instruction from Holmes. My only hope is for my wife to be safe.

End of Entry

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><p><strong>AN: I apologize that it is shorter than usual, the contents of chap 18 and the coming soon chap 19 were supposedly in one chap only, but I decided to go into detail about the disguises because I thought of them only a little later and they are important to the plot.**

**Tell me what you think of Irene being Watson and Mary being Irene?**

**A Case of Identity is a story in the Canon. Its a fun story and very very funny. Well, funny because the client was kinda naive and clueless which makes her laughable. But I've decided to borrow the title for a good cause.**

**Not that I'm fishing for comments, but it would be nice to here from you guys about what you think, and your predictions or whatever... Because I'm starting to think my fic is boring most of you, really hope not.**

**So, hey, since we're now waist deep in the case, anything could happen by now. They're going back to London! Don't worry Watson fans, he won't be cooped up in the country for too long. Suggestions please!**

**Thanks.**

**-JS**


	19. The Strange Case

**A/N: Thanks for those who reviewed. You really really lift up my spirits. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I put effort into writing it. :)**

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><p><strong>The Strange Case of Dt. Holmes and Ms. Adler<strong>

* * *

><p>They arrived at King's Cross station at half past ten and were greeted by the biting cold foggy atmosphere. To Holmes there was something about this unbecoming hostility of the city in night time that was very welcoming to a man of his profession. Although mostly certain of what he was to expect the next few days, it was never a bad thing to be open to new possibilities in the crime scene, the change in location was a factor to that. There was something about being in crowded and dirty old London that was so much more appealing than staying in the posh countryside; and the spirit of excitement was awoken even more.<p>

Holmes assisted Mary off the train, promising not to leave her side until they met Mycroft, and she clung to him as they walked out the station. It was rather convenient since it appeared to some who would be familiar as the usual Holmes and Adler company, while the real Adler disguised as Watson, tailed them closely from behind. Holmes hired two cabs, one had his and Irene's luggage (mostly Irene's) to be delivered to Mrs. Hudson at Baker Street and the other was to take them to Pall Mall.

Mary was still and silent along the way.

"I admire your bravery tonight Mrs. Watson." Holmes called her attention.

"Yes, I am surprised myself, but if I were to help you and John in anyway, it had to be done." She smiled weakly then turned to Irene. "I never realized how uncomfortable it is to be you. It takes so much time and effort to look like this." She said laughingly.

Irene laughed too. "Give it sometime everyday sweetheart, and you'll get used to it."

When they got to the place, they escorted Mary inside.

"Good evening Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, and Ms. Adler." Caruthers greeted them at the door and led the way to Mycroft's flat.

The older Holmes was in front of the fire reading the evening paper; he nodded to them as they entered. "So far no reported deaths or crimes that may be related to your business here, Sherley. There were some that turned up, but I've seen to them and they proved unrelated. Also nothing quite relevant has passed me in the government line either, not that there ever has." He smiled to himself at the personal inside joke.

"That's good; it means we may just have enough time to prevent one. I'm afraid I cannot linger much longer brother, we must make use of every second while we are here. Watson is back in the country looking out for any activities of the opposing party, but that is just a precautionary method, for now, my energy is focused to finding out their plans here in London. I will put Mrs. Watson in your charge, Ms. Adler and I must take our leave." He shook his brother's hand and turned towards the door.

"Wait!" Mary called out.

He turned, but was surprised to see her walking towards Irene instead.

"What is it Mary?" Irene said. She took Irene's hands in hers and both Holmes brothers raised their eyebrows.

"I- I know you are not really John, but—"

Mary kissed Irene full on the lips to which the other woman simply stood still in shock.

She broke off the kiss. "Be safe both of you."

* * *

><p>The moment the pair got off the front steps Holmes let out a rambunctious guffaw. Irene punched him in the arm, but he laughed only more until the next five blocks and gained some telling off from the residents awoken by his noise.<p>

"Oh shut it already!" Irene grumbled and pulled her bowler hat lower on her face, deepening her contralto voice into a man's and not forgetting the mandatory English accent

"In all our years together _Watson, _I'd never thought you and _Ms. Adler_ would get along. But it seems that you do get along _very well_ for that matter." He was still clutching his sides as they walked along and she followed his lead.

Irene frowned under her mustache. "Oh shut it." Was all she could think of saying.

Holmes didn't want to shut it. "Though I must admit you do clean up well in those." He put his voice in a low whisper. "You don't look like the real Watson, but to familiar people, it's hard not to mistake you for him."

"I learn from the best _Holmes." _She needed to get used to calling him by his surname in public.

"Weren't you self taught in the art of disguise?"

"Exactly," She smirked, "although I wouldn't say the same for you right now. What in heaven's name are you wearing?" Holmes was garbed in a checked brown Inverness coat and matching deerstalker hat with the earflaps tied up, and he had his pipe between his teeth once more.

"It is a disguise my dear Watson. I would not be caught in broad daylight wearing such a preposterous fashion hence a great disguise."

"Oh, whatever dear Holmes."

"No, don't say _dear_. _You_ never say 'dear'." He waved his pipe at her with a lecturing air. It seems that she still needed to master her John Watson character.

They walked in silence after that, and after a tiring hour of walking, Holmes stopped in front of a familiar place. "Ah, here we are!"

THE PUNCHBOWL was painted in huge peeling red letters on the wooden wall outside. Inside, the crowd roared with laughter and yells, and music was in the air.

"Excuse me, what are we doing here?" Irene asked incredulously, forgetting about her male voice, and the question came out in a shrill tone.

"Shhh! Your voice, remember your voice!" Holmes hushed her. "Just follow me." And he proceeded inside.

The first few boxing matches for the night had started and the gamblers were yelling at their bets in the ring. Holmes found an empty table and Irene sat across of him, her face stern. "I cannot believe you are wasting our time in this place."

"I am not." He said as he grabbed two bottles of bitter off a passing bar maid's tray and tossing in two copper pieces. He pushed the other bottle towards her. "I am merely setting up and atmosphere of incognito investigation."

"Oh please, incognito investigation my arse, you are wasting our time!"

Holmes put down his bottle. "Alright, so what if I am? What is life without its little distractions? What are you going to do about it 'Doctor'?" he stood up and threw out his arms in a taunting manner and hit a man behind him in the face.

"Oi! Why don'cha look where ya goin'?" the burly man grabbed Holmes by the collar. "Oh, 'tis only you Mistah 'Olmes." He lowered the detective back into his seat and nodded in Irene's direction. "Fancy meetin' ya 'ere Doctah Watson, I 'eard marriage 'ad taken the spring outta yah step." To which Irene only smiled in amusement.

"'Duncan the Drinker' my boy!" Holmes patted the thick muscled arm. "Come, take a seat, your fill tonight is on me." And he pulled down the huge man beside him. "Now why don't you share with us tonight's major bets, huh?"

Duncan got three bottles from the bar maid and downed two almost immediately. "Well, we've got tha' new Mullato man from Mexico called Ramos against our own res'dent Davies. Stakes are soarin' I 'ear. You plan on bettin' tonight Doctah? 'Tis not always you can escape from the wife, y'know." He directed the question to Irene, who almost forgot Watson was an avid gambler. She shot Holmes a look who nodded back.

"Yes, yes I just might Mr. Duncan." She said in her best Watson voice.

Irene found herself betting a ten pound note she found in one of Watson's pockets, and thoroughly enjoying the match that raged on in the ring bellow. She had bet on Ramos, and found it to be a pretty good choice. Holmes was nowhere to be found and she was left in the company of Duncan, whom she later learned had earned his moniker 'The Drinker' because it was as if he simply inhaled his drinks, and she pretty much tried to keep up.

Eleven bottles later, and she was betting her winnings from Ramos, in an arm wrestle between Duncan and the loser Davies. It was not such a major event, but people were starting to get drunk and anything was fun as long as yelling and drinking was involved. She bet a twenty on Duncan, and when he lost, Irene, drunk as she was, found herself jumping on the table and declaring a bar fight against the winning betters.

There were bottles smashed on people's heads. A couple of teeth were seen soaring through the air. There was laughter, yelling and screaming and some nutcase decided to accompany the ongoing brawl with music thus Offenbach's Can-can would be heard amongst the noise. In this situation, it was pretty much anyone against everyone, and if you didn't recognize your friend, you might probably end up punching him in the face.

Irene ducked and crawled on the gravely floor, still laughing her head off and clutching at her wig to make sure it doesn't come off since she lost her hat. Only the sight off a beauty like her could stop the ruckus, she was having fun, she wouldn't want that. She avoided the legs and the stomping feet and came across a few unconscious bar dwellers but had no sight of Holmes just yet. She found her bowler hat on the floor and had just fastened it onto her head when someone picked her up by the collar. It was tonight's match winner Ramos, his face was swollen in places and he was obviously drunk. His fist was balled and he retracted his arm behind him to fuel his blow. Drunk as she already was, Irene only giggled and playfully punched the buff man on the chest. His fist flew, but the punch never came. Someone had knocked Ramos out; she fell and was caught by that someone before she hit the ground.

Holmes put the drunk and giggling woman to her feet.

"G'd evenin' guv'nor-hic!" she raised her hat in greeting.

"Come on doctor, get up now, you said you didn't want time wasted." He threw her arm around his neck.

"I'm not the doctor-hic. You are-hic." She burst into a fit of giggles.

"You are terribly inebriated and out of your senses. Get up, we are going home." He pulled her through the fighting, dragging her feet on the ground.

Irene burst into raucous laughter again; then with a huge deep voice she bellowed. "Help, help my good men. I am being kidnapped!"

Holmes did not see what was coming to him and he was off his feet in a second, Irene once dropped to the floor, giggling and hiccupping, reached out for somebody else's bottle. Holmes was raised by his collar by the least person he wanted to be in a fight with.

"Now, now Duncan. This is me, your friend Sherlock Holmes." The man had drunk himself nearly half blind.

"No friend of mine abducts Doctah Watson!" he yelled, spraying Holmes with spit and threw his fist to the detective's face.

* * *

><p>Irene woke up with her ears ringing and found herself on a bed. She felt tired, weak, and heavy. Her head pounded but it was her upset stomach that woke her up, and the moment she sat up she threw herself back down the side of the bed, retching. There was already a bucket at the very spot she puked on and there was already puke in it. She was probably vomiting the entire night. When her balance steadied and her vision cleared Irene saw she was in an unfamiliar room. There was a blazing fireplace and a modest sitting, a commode, and a chest of drawers, but what got her attention the most was the writing desk across the room for there sat Sherlock Holmes reading a book.<p>

"That's the third time you've thrown up tonight. It's good that you're finally awake." He looked up at her and closed his book. "How much did you have to drink?"

"Did you change me into this?" Irene plucked at the generously ruffled high neck night gown she was wearing not really hearing his question.

"Yes."

Irene gaped at him with a scandalized expression on her face.

"I can assemble an automatic German manufactured rifle in the dark, and take out ten men only with my bare hands while blindfolded; I think I can put you into that garment without looking." He got up and snatched a bottle of tonic and a glass of water off the commode and walked towards her. "How's your head feeling?" he handed the medications to her and she gulped them down.

"Like a gong during temple call. Where am I anyway and how long have I been out?"

"We're in Baker Street, don't fret, it's only been a couple of hours since, and you are currently in Watson's old room. If we were to keep up the illusion that you actually are Watson, then it is best for you to make use of this room."

"Why, were you planning of keeping me in some _other_ room_,_ detective?" Her innate seductiveness got the better of her. "Yours perhaps?"

"How much did you drink woman?"

Irene smacked herself. "Maybe more than I should have, but I do feel better now, if you could help me up—OH MY GOODNESS WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?!"

When Holmes gave his arm to help her, Irene looked up and saw his face up close; his left eye was purple, his lower lip had burst, and his white shirt was bloodied on the left shoulder.

"This is all thanks to you actually." Holmes sneered as she assisted him to lie on the couch.

"Shut up and take off your shirt."

"Really, I'm fine; I study medicinal practice on myself six hours in a week."

"Doesn't look like it's of any help, does it?"

She tore open the front of his shirt, went and searched the drawers for an iodine solution, and then she ran out and rushed downstairs. He was getting up when she got back with a basin of hot water and pushed him back down. She wrung a rag into the basin and wiped his face with it.

"Now hold still." She sat beside him then proceeded to inspect the wound: several chips of wood had dug themselves just below his left shoulder. They weren't very deep but had opened huge gashes on his skin that bled a lot. "How on earth did this happen to you?"

"Let's just say, Duncan was blind drunk and used me to demolish half the ring."

Irene slowly pulled one out and Holmes hissed in response. "Just hold still, it won't take a while if you do."

Holmes surveyed his nurse as she worked on his wound. Her face was serene and calm yet the spark of concentration was in her eyes. He would occasionally complain as she pulled out a splinter or a chip, but she would hush him and dab the warm wash cloth on the wounds.

"You know, you're taking this doctor character perhaps too seriously." He chuckled.

Irene just stared him down and continued her work. She had gotten most of the bigger chips out and was straining her eyes to work out the smaller splinters. When she moved in closer her hair fell to his face and Holmes could not resist but to inhale her scent.

This was a bad idea, very bad indeed.

He had gone through with his plans smoothly and up until now it had not crossed his mind how it was such a bad idea to be left alone with Irene. He had nothing on his mind but the case, the escape, the disguises, then the investigation proceedings. He had not thought through the fact that he would be working with the one person whose life he needed to save yet was the same person who could be his own destruction.

It was as if his body was working against him, he started to sweat, his breathing quickened and he could hear his heart pound in his ears, and he only feared she would hear it too. Holmes sighed heavily and hung his head back on the sofa's arm.

"Sorry, did that hurt too much?" Irene said when she noticed this of him. "Its just has to be patched up, that all that's left, if you could just sit up to the light- There, that's much better." And she returned to her work. When he sat up, her hair brushed at his chin, and he felt like going mad.

"What happened to us Irene?" he finally let it out, speaking softly.

"How would I know, I was out cold." She said still busy with the bandage, he raised his left arm so she could loop the gauze over it.

Holmes chuckled and thought out his next words carefully. "Do you remember Paris?"

Irene sat back. "Of course I remember Paris, who could forget Paris…" She stopped when she saw the way he looked at her. "Oh, you mean _us_ in Paris…"

Holmes' raised hand found its way to her cheek and he smiled that she didn't wave it away. "Why can't we be like we were in Paris?"

Irene took his hand in both of hers. "I'm getting married Sherlock." She had a small smile on her face that made her look both happy and sad when she said that.

"You always do."

Irene laughed at that and turned away. "I know it sounds silly coming from me, but it's different this time—"

"What happened to us?" he couldn't stop the words coming from his mouth. The question had been in the back of his head for so long he had forgotten why he even cared for an answer, but now, he needed one; he'd ask it again and again if he had to.

Irene opened her mouth and closed it again, searching for words, the flames in the fireplace reflected in her eyes. "You happened. After you knew about Moran's plans you turned your back to me. You wouldn't even listen."

He remembered that. He had let himself go cold towards her, now he felt something pull at his heart. Was it regret? "I'm sorry." He whispered leaning in, resting his forehead on the side of her head and inhaling her scent.

Irene laughed again, "Well there's no use for that now, is there? It's a little too late."

"Not yet, it isn't."

Holmes gently turned her face towards his. Irene's eyes were wide almost as if with anticipation, she made no move to stop him or to bring him closer. She just sat there, with his hand in hers and breathing unsteadily. His free hand found her hair, and though uncertain as he was to his action, he couldn't stop himself. Their foreheads touched; there was no going back now.

"This isn't a very good idea." She muttered as if to herself and looked at him through her eyelashes.

"I know." Then he took her lips into his.

It started off slow and gentle; as if both were reconsidering their actions, but before either of them could break off, Holmes pulled her closer onto him ignoring his newly patched up wound and snaked his arm around her waist.

"Sherlock, be careful, you'll bleed again." Irene warned and touched his wound gingerly.

But before she could say anything else he was kissing her again and her fingers had tangled themselves into his hair. His lips were gentle but fervent, as if he was scared he might frighten her, or she was a fragile doll and afraid to break her. But the kiss was going a little too slow for Irene; her tongue flicked out and licked his lips and when he opened them slightly out of surprise, she found her way in. The detective tasted like tobacco, and although she wasn't the avid smoker, she wanted more, she was addicted and she pulled him in closer if that was even possible and threw one leg over his waist.

Holmes found himself straddled by her and he felt his excitement grow. He tightened his hold around her waist and one hand to the back of head to deepen the lip lock. When that wasn't enough, he scooped her up in his arms with her not breaking the kiss. He walked towards the bed and gently put her down. Irene groaned when he broke the kiss, but grinned lustfully when he took of his torn shirt and crawled on the bed towards her. Before she could get her hands on him, Holmes took her wrists and pinned them above her head and tied them to a overhead bedpost with his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Irene demanded.

But he hushed her with his lips and trailed light kisses down her jaw to her neck only to be stopped by her night gown's high neckline. He slipped an arm underneath her to arch her back and tried a move all too familiar to Irene; with his lips he slowly unbuttoned the dress and left a soft lingering kiss to every inch of skin he exposed.

He was lying when he said he wasn't looking when he changed her into the dress, but with her passed out drunk and smelling terribly of sweat, vomit and alcohol, it wasn't something that would excite him, or any man for that matter. But he had given her a sponge bath with the toiletries he found in her belongings and changed her in something decent, and now he was thankful he did those, for her skin tasted like vanilla and only made him want her more.

Irene pulled helplessly at her bonds; it wasn't fair; he was having his way with her while she was tied up like a prisoner. "Sherlock," she said breathlessly. "Let me go."

"No." He nipped at her collar bone, and she stifled a whimper.

Irene kept pulling herself free but with each kiss she felt herself grow weaker. "Sherlock, don't make me beg." He kissed her chest generously as his fingers worked on the rest of her buttons.

"Beg." He taunted as his lips nibbled on the ivory flesh of her breast.

"No." she said half heartedly and squirmed beneath his lips. Irene threw her head back and gasped when he ran his tongue on her left nipple.

"No?" he did the same to the right.

"No—!" A spasm ran right through her body. She had ignored his hand that was unbuttoning her dress, and as it descended, he lightly teased a finger over her entrance. She struggled for self control as his skilled fingers played her like an instrument. A moan escaped her and Irene stopped pulling, her breathing quickened and hitched, her face contorted with pleasure. This was the utmost torture at the hands of Sherlock Holmes.

Holmes himself tried not to loose control; he bit and sucked her breasts hungrily, and left wet kisses to relieve the pain. He did his best to be gentle with her, and when his fingers managed to elicit from her a positive response, he felt triumph. But this wasn't a game of who was strong or who was weak; it wasn't just another night between them. For a loss of better words; it was his last chance; his last chance to change her mind, his last chance to pleasure her, his last chance to consume her. If there was no other way to change her mind than this, then he'd happily stay up all night convincing her. He wanted her to stay.

"Please," her throaty voice cutting through his thoughts. "Please Sherlock."

He stopped what he was doing, and raised his head to her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips were dry and her eyes were glassy.

"Please."

"Very well." Then he proceeded to untie her, but the moment her bonds were loose, Holmes found himself thrown on his back. Irene attacking his lips; hungry and wild and her hands undid his belt swiftly. "Sly." He breathed into her lips.

"Shut up." His trousers flew off. "I'd like to return the favor, Mr. Holmes." There was a devilish glint in her eyes for a moment then she trailed kisses down his neck, his chest and down his toned abdomen.

Seeing where this was leading, he tried to pull her off, "No, wait, Irene—!"

Holmes gasped and clutched the sheets hard until his knuckles were white, his head spun, and a moan threatened to escape his lips. Her mouth was wet and hot around him, and when she pulled away, he felt like she sucked his very soul into her lips. He thought it was over until her lips nibbled gently at the tip and her tongue flicked out and teased it, her hand enveloped his length and slid up and down as her lips and tongue did their magic.

"Ms. Adler." He found it hard to keep his breathing straight as she took him in deep expertly. "Ms. Adler I think…" she sucked hard and pulled away slowly. "… I think that's enough…"

"Tired already Mr. Holmes?" She looked up with a smirk on her evil lips.

"Oh, I wouldn't say so; I was only considering your endurance."

Irene crawled up to him and crossed her arms on his chest; the smirk was still on her face and one eyebrow arched at him. "You need not worry about my enduring such activities Sherlock, we're just getting started." She sat up and straddled him.

Holmes only realized then whereas he was completely naked, she was still considerably decent underneath the ruffled dress. He sat up and pushed her dress from the hem up and kissed her from her exposed navel upwards as she was slowly rid of the garment. He pulled her closer to him, his hands pressing the small of her back firmly, molding her body to his.

She was teasing again as she lowered slowly onto him, so he thrust himself into her and caught her off guard rewarding him with her shudder. His hands guided her hips as he rocked slowly inside her and she pulled him in for another kiss.

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><p>Irene Adler had three different kinds of sleep: the first was her regular sleep; her face calm and placid, her body relaxed, her breathing slow and steady and sometimes when she was happy, her lips would have a shadow of a smile. The second was when she was pretending to be asleep or was in a light nap; her face would be as placid as the first, but her breathing gave her away to those who are observant. The last was when she would be stressed or something bothered her thoughts, she rarely had nightmares, but one would know if she was in her third state of sleep; her eyebrows would be slightly furrowed, her breathing labored at times, her shoulders hunched and her body bowed into a fetal position, and sometimes her palms would be cold. Sherlock Holmes had observed all three in the entirety of his acquaintance with Irene Adler.<p>

Dawn was slowly creeping up in the horizon outside and he stayed up after she had fallen asleep. He felt her tense breathing as her back was to his chest. He could not see her face, but her shoulders were slightly hunched and when he intertwined his fingers with hers, he felt the cool palms. He threw the blanket over their shoulders and wrapped his arm around her waist, nestling her body closer into his and buried his face in her hair.

He wanted to free her of her present thoughts, he knew what they were, but if only they didn't trouble her, then he wouldn't feel guilty. It was strange to think that he was concerned for anybody's welfare, especially when it came to Irene and the meteoric changes in attachment between them. But as he held her with her bleak thoughts apparent in her form, she appeared vulnerable, and he wanted to take away the pain. He wanted to cure her of her guilt, regardless of his own.

Before she had woken up hours ago, he had been reading a book from Watson's collection that he left behind. It was modern, and though he had no interest in sensational literature, it was the only book on the shelf that could pass off as a mystery; Watson was much too fond of the lighter side of literature.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde seemed like a case he would be enthusiastic enough to handle, but when he fell deeper into the novella, he found himself very much resembling the kind and introverted Dr. Henry Jekyll. Not that he concocted potions that turned him into a beast of a man. But yes, he found himself in the Dr.'s shoes; turning into something very unlike himself during most nights, and turning back into his weary old self in the morning, tired but satisfied after enjoying his vice. To the doctor it was the potion; to Holmes it was the woman asleep in his arms.

Jekyll and Hyde were two very different creatures, the inhibited and scientific Jekyll against the liberated and the cruel Hyde whose exploits turned him notorious adding to his already horrific appearance. But with a lust for a life that was unlike his, Jekyll indulged in the potion, taking pleasure from the free and wild habits of Hyde. Jekyll's addiction to the potion eventually led to an irreversible transformation into Hyde. Holmes realized now that he was not who he had nurtured himself into after he had his dose of Irene Adler. It was forgivable the first time, but when she came around once more, his thirst came back. The deductive reasoner was lost, the cold observant mind shut off, and the rationalized habits became all for naught. She was like wine to the alcoholic, a potion to the deranged doctor; she was The Woman to Sherlock Holmes.

Watson had always declared he was not human; unfeeling, cold, strange, a mystery in and of himself. Nothing mattered but work. She was turning him into a normal man; as normal and as lustful as a man could get. He had become jealous, possessive, and too involved with her. For all he cared he was never born with humanity. But she changed that when she came into his life, she was his humanity. Now, like the doctor being completely intoxicated with his potion, he dreaded the day he transforms permanently into 'Hyde'.

Holmes wrapped his arms around her, gentle but possessive. His thoughts filled with wishful thinking that the sun remained low and morning would never come so that he would remain tied to his vice regardless of monstrous transformations.

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><p><strong>AN: I think I've been watching too much pRon, or reading too many romance novels, yet I still feel like my sexy-time scene sucked. (no pun intended) ****Anyhow, you guys will be the judge of that.**

**About the MaryxIrene kiss: LOL, I don't know if it was necessary, but I know that kind of feeling. Mary being away from her husband in such dangerous times sees Irene as a perfect duplicate of her husband. Thoughts will surely run in your mind. Not that I have the urge to kiss every guy I see that looks like my boyfriend who's currently away. You guys get the pic.**

**The bar fight: I have been watching my Pirates of the Caribbean movie collection far too often lately. I like watching myself (authorname pun intended) But have also been watching Moulin Rogue! so many times lately that I just need to put the Can Can somewhere in here! So I mashed up Can Can and that beloved Tortuga bar fight scene.**

**Jekyll and Hyde: I just loved this novella so much. It's hair raising in most parts, not because it's very scary, but the sensation you get from the narrator's point of view. CRIPES! So from Jekyll's experience I realized how much it resembles Holmes 'addiction' to Irene. Well, in our HolmesxAdler fandom of course, because she's just so irresistible to Holmes in many ways. It just makes sense. Because die-hard Holmesian Purists will argue that Holmes only admires her, not LOVES her. Assuming he drifted from that admiration into emotional involvement, it would surely hinder his mental performance. Don't you think? So my Jekyll-Hyde theory of Holmes and Adler just fits. :)**

**Anyhow- WHO ELSE IN HERE IS IN LOVE WITH LEGOLAS?**


	20. Dangerous Bliss

**A/N: Depression sucks, I know some of you understand how I mean. I'm sorry for not being able to update for quite a long time. It's just that once I get sucked into this black hole of a situation, it's hard for me to bring myself back up. It's my number one enemy when it comes to writing, (second is laziness) because people who suffer from depression loses interest in the things they usually do. I'm lucky mine is diagnosed as Mild. Eventually I got better and so after a month of helping myself, I'm here.**

**I've written this chapter before I sunk but only had time to polish and edit this a few days ago. Enjoy and please review, your reviews make me happy. :)**

**Disclaimer: Cyrus Barker and Thomas Llewelyn belong to Will Thomas. (probably the only disclaimer I'll make since we all know to whom Holmes and the others belong too.)**

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><p><strong> Dangerous Bliss<strong>

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><p>White winter sunlight was flooding through the windows when he woke up. He shielded his eyes with a groan and turned onto his side, throwing out his arm to embrace his companion. Only to have it land on the empty side of the bed. Holmes was up immediately and questions filled his mind.<p>

First: what time it was.

Second: how long he was asleep.

And third: where was she?

He ran to the window and pulled the curtain shut then to his discarded pile of clothes on the floor, searching for his gold pocket watch. It was nine o'clock a.m., meaning at least four hours since he fell asleep. In four hours time she could have sneaked out, boarded a train to Edinburg after her fiancé to convince him to run away with her and get married. Or, in four hours time she could have gone to escape him and his desire and was cornered by her unknown pursuers, captured, tortured, and…

He pulled on his trousers and ran down the step ladder descending into his sitting room and almost tripped over his scattered things. He at least expected to find her there, but she wasn't. His heart pounded in his ears as he ran downstairs. Mrs. Hudson was always up early, she would have noticed Irene sneaking out, but then again she could've climbed out the window… He shook his thoughts away and leapt off the steps by twos and made his way to the widow's quarters, instead skidded to a halt in front of the kitchen's threshold.

She was there with her back to him, humming as she set down plates on the rough work table. She was in her trousers yet again, in a crisp white shirt and a waistcoat he recognized to be his; he smirked despite his earlier panic. She may have looked like Watson from behind with her short blonde wig and the masculine shape provided by her costume, but when she turned slightly to the side, he could see her smooth, rose tinted cheek, and that endearing slightly pointed nose. It was so odd how this androgynous appearance of hers dried his throat and lips, spun his head and quickened his heartbeat once more.

She had sensed him and turned. "There you are. I wondered when you'd be up. Mrs. Hudson's gone out and she left a note saying she might not be back until la—"

Out of his relief, he rushed to her, crashing his lips on hers, glad for their warmth, glad of her presence. He held her tight to his body, touching, groping, feeling her and making sure she was real. He pushed onto her until there was no room for her but to sit on the table. He smothered her with his lips, and she responded hungrily by wrapping her legs around his waist. Irene tasted of sweet respite, a wonderful break in the middle of a taxing case, a fleeting liberation. He needed her.

Adler was still in a daze when Holmes started unbuckling her belt as he kissed her, she had a slight idea then when he pulled her trousers off over her shoes, but all train of thought disappeared when he filled her. Irene gasped throwing her head back and felt her strength leave her as thrust after thrust invaded her body. He rained kisses on her neck. She threw her arms around him to keep her from falling back onto the table, her fingers clawing at his bare back as ripple after ripple of pleasure built up inside of her. Then that pleasure exploded, a spasm ran through her body to her fingers and toes, and an involuntary moan escaped her, turning her putty in his arms. He caught her lips as his thrusts quickened and became more urgent. Then as he grunted against her lips with what self control he had left, his release came.

He slowed down as he panted slightly, holding her face close to his, her eyes heavy and glazed.

"Good morning to you too, Mr. Holmes." She said with a smirk pulling at the corners of her lips.

"I… Thought… You… Left…" he rasped in between light kisses. "Don't do that ever again." He sighed as he rested his brow on hers.

Irene's face darkened slightly. "I think…" she made to push him away. "We'd better get dressed, Mrs. Hudson might be back—"

"Mr. Holmes? Dr. _Watson?_" the all too familiar horrified voice of the landlady came from the doorway.

Holmes felt Adler freeze in his arms, and with much embarrassment, he slowly turned his head towards the widow. Paper shopping bags and their contents lay strewn at her feet, obviously dropped at the indecent sight. The old lady had an ashen wide eyed expression then after performing the sign of the cross and hearing a small whimper escape her, she fell like a leaf.

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><p>"I still don't think it was a good idea leaving her like that." Irene argued with her masculine English voice, her lips twitching underneath the itchy mustache.<p>

They left the unconscious Mrs. Hudson on her sitting room couch, a pot of fresh tea by the coffee table to freshen her when she awakes and a short note Holmes had scribbled beside it. (_Will explain when we get home later. Must leave immediately, work calls. ~S. Holmes_) Agreeing that it was too awkward to face the nanny if they stay for breakfast, the pair took off for a restaurant of Holmes' choice.

"It is for the best Doctor, and I doubt you would want to be confronted by her anyways, Nanny is after all a very devout Christian, what she's seen of me only proves to her that I am the devil's spawn." He said with a self-assured tone and took a sip from his cup. "Ah, green tea, refreshing!" he smacked his lips.

Irene just shrugged her shoulders. "Anyhow, I was expecting a Parisian café, or an Italian Bistro, because perhaps I'd be too ambitious if I expected you to bring me to _The Savoy_ or _The Royale._ But this just takes the cake." She said with an amused smile as she surveyed her surroundings.

Holmes had taken her for a hansom ride, the light was soft and it was a wonderful morning with such a humorous beginning and she looked forward to the rest of the day. As they passed High Street were most of the stately restaurants are, she didn't mind, but as they passed a few dozen more public houses and reputable cafes, she started to doubt. Down by East End, he instructed the cabbie into a narrow sinister alleyway where they alighted, then Holmes led her into a door that almost blended with the dirty walls.

She at least expected a criminal nest of a pub behind the door, but it was a deep stairwell in Stygian darkness. Holmes lit a candle from his pocket, ignored her raised eyebrows and led her down wordlessly. After quite a long descent, their path leveled then after a few yards, they ascended. A door greeted them at the top of the stairs, Holmes blew the candle and they were plunged in darkness for a while until he pushed the door open.

Inside was a restaurant, if you could call it that, lit only by candles on the numerous rough wooden tables. The place may be dark and looked very shady, but it was a full house. Holmes led her to an already set vacant table and the moment they sat down, a huge Chinaman the image of Buddha (take away the serene happy face and add a hint of murderous contempt), set course after course of Chinese cuisine on their table. Irene was familiar with the Chinese custom when it came to food; eat now talk later, and never ever displease the cook. Holmes too, it seemed, knew this, and they shared a quiet, quick, and satisfying brunch.

Now they sat across each other with a fresh pot of green tea between them, letting their breakfast settle in their system. She looked around discreetly; the place was run by the huge Chinaman that was evident, but the patrons of the place were the spectacle; men of all statures; rich, middleclass, poor, and the poorest of the poor, men of all race; Asians, Persians, Negroes, Caucasian, men of different fields; thieves, criminals, politicians, a parson, and Irene recognized someone from the Victoria Theatre.

"This place, Ho's, is neutral ground." Holmes said as if answering her unspoken question. "If Mycroft has his Diogenes Club, then I have my own, and that is Ho's, although I do not frequent it. That man over there may speak about murdering the Prime Minister tonight, but I won't stop him, it is not my business and also I have heard it here, if anywhere else then I might act on it. Any information that does not pass across your table is not yours to know. Your privacy is truly respected in here."

Irene nodded attentively. "That's nice, but I really didn't care about the patrons or the rules."

Holmes looked rather offended.

"I wanted to ask if the costume is necessary." She stifled a laugh as she gestured to his garb; his Chinese-beggar costume that he managed to slip on as they left the house.

"I wanted to please Ho. The first time I was here I wore this, and it's been sometime I've visited this place." His eyes lit up with nostalgia behind his dark round spectacles.

"Didn't you say you don't speak Mandarin, then how come you know someone like him?"

"Who ever said we spoke to each other?"

Holmes rhetoric was left unanswered when the door of the restaurant opened and entered a tall man. Although his features were common in London's middleclass, Irene took in every detail; six feet perhaps, his black hair combed to one side with grey streaks on his temples, a strong black mustache extending to his jaw line with a thin lip underneath, his nose of a broad aquiline shape, and his eyes were hidden behind round smoky spectacles. The moment he appeared it was as if death was at the door. He was closely followed by a shorter, younger, dark fellow, he looked cautious and reticent but after having the acquaintance of Moran, Adler recognizes an expert gunman when she sees one. Both were suited in premium attires.

The walking stone gargoyle that was the taller man walked towards their direction, emanating his forbidding aura in the room. The somber young fellow, apparently his assistant followed suit. Holmes stood to greet them but extended no handshake and his face remained still. As Irene stood, the tall man turned to her and gave a slight bow. "A pleasant morning to you, mademoiselle, I believe your wig is a discomfort, it would be a pleasure if you presented us with you true appearance."

Irene gave a start but remained her composure. She stole a glance at Holmes who now had a smile on his lips towards the visitor. When she didn't move, he said. "You heard the man Ms. Adler; remove your mask if you please."

Irene conceded and tore off the mustache and false nose and pulled off the tightly fitted wig, letting her curls cascade down her back. The room went silent that instant as every man turned to witness the rare sight of a woman inside the place then they resumed their business as if nothing happened.

"Ms. Adler, this is Cyrus Barker, prominent enquiry agent of London, and his assistant Thomas Llewelyn. Cyrus, Thomas, Ms. Irene Adler." Holmes played the host.

She recognized the name having seen them in the papers, more frequently than Holmes' name would appear.

"It is an honor to meet such a woman." He said with a cold rasping voice as he pressed his lips to her hand. The assistant, Llewelyn on the other hand regarded her with a look that told her he did not care much for women who dressed up as men but kissed her hand as well. "Shall we sit? I believe Ho has fed you well upon my instruction?"

Holmes nodded. "It was a pleasant fare." He gestured Irene to sit beside him as they settled down.

Irene's gaze flitted from one man to the other, the other eccentric, the other severe, both wore dark round glasses, both were highly regarded London detectives and both had a gift for making people very uncomfortable.

"If I may be so bold to ask, where is Dr. Watson?" Llewelyn spoke, not taking his round intelligent eyes off Irene.

"Ms. Adler is currently my Dr. Watson, but the one you know is in the country seeing to the tasks I have set for him, Mr. Llewelyn." Holmes said and turned back to Barker. "I have made a mutual acquaintance, Cyrus." He stated with familiarity that was not his usual manner.

"Have you now?" The enquiry agent had taken out an amber stemmed pipe with a curious ivory bowl, as it was intricately carved in his own image, and began smoking. "I am hazarding he will be of interest to me if you have sought my assistance?"

Holmes didn't answer but pulled out his own pipe, it had the same ivory bowl and amber stem, only less ornate. Barker's eyes shone behind his spectacles, he gingerly took Holmes' pipe in his hands and compared it with his. "I'm hazarding you are already interested?" Holmes smiled.

Barker handed him back the pipe, his face dismal. "It has been a long time since I've seen the man, quite too long actually; almost four years since he gave this to me when we met once more in China." He pointed to his pipe. "I may not be of help."

"He's here Barker." Holmes' tone became serious.

"In London? For how long?"

"More than a year. You know him, what does he want?"

"I cannot be so specific, he is a man engrossed in business. As far as I know this is the farthest he has gone away from home. What brought him here has either sparked his interest, or somebody owes him a large sum. Han Lao is like that, he will give you respect, he will be hospitable, he will clothe you, feed you, and he will become your driving force, but the moment you turn you back against him, forgetting all he has done for you, he will hunt you down and take everything back. A tooth for a tooth, life for a life, money for money, Han does not take 'thank you' as payment. He is a businessman, he invests, and once his investments don't bring him profit, they are good as dead accounts."

Holmes turned his head so sharply towards Irene she feared it must've snapped. "Is there something you're not telling me, my dear?"

She heard Barker's analysis of their suspect, but there was nothing she could remember that would make her indebted to this Han Lao. "I've never met him before, heck; I don't even know this man!"

"The lady is telling the truth." Barker said. Was he a human lie detector now?

"What about Moran?" Holmes asked her.

"I wouldn't say so, his connections were mostly European in fact there was nothing he owed that he could not pay."

Holmes simply nodded, his brows were furrowed. "You knew him in China, did you not?" he directed the question to Barker.

Barker nodded. "A childhood friend of mine back in Foochow."

"You tutored him in the English language?"

This time it was Barker who had furrowed brows. "In China I was the alien, Holmes, it is the alien who must learn the tongue of the foreign land. Han and I conversed purely in Mandarin, if he spoke English, he would have used it with me."

"Well that doesn't quite fit. You see now, he speaks English flawlessly, perfect accent, perfect grammar, even you won't recognize his voice. He speaks better than an Oxford graduate, no offense Mr. Llewelyn. Cyrus, when you last met Mr. Han four years ago, was he then studying English?"

"No, he was pure as a native Chinaman could be, he had not begun exploring beyond Asia then. His tongue was untainted by any European language."

The detective and the enquiry agent regarded each other across the table for a while; their eyebrows disappeared underneath their spectacles in tight frowns. Irene suspected they spoke with their minds; after all great minds think alike, or was it crazy minds?

Then both rose, grasped each other's hand firmly across the table and Holmes gestured to her that they should leave.

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><p>Holmes didn't light the candle and this time they walked in darkness. "Last night when I brought you to the ring and left you with Duncan, it was because Barker frequented the place and I knew I'd find him there. We agreed on meeting here, as I've mentioned in the rules, if it was not discussed over your table, it is not yours to know. Ho might know Han Lao or one of the patrons might yet they never tell, there is something about that place that simply keeps a man shut."<p>

"Must be the food." Irene humored.

"Or the cook." Holmes smiled. "Our next stop: Scotland Yard, just a few blocks away from the entrance. We're about to ascend, you should take my hand or you might trip." He found her left hand and held it firmly as he led her up the steps blindly.

If she could see in the dark, she would be considering pulling hers away. But it was comforting as it was confusing to feel the warmth of his rough palm leading her through the darkness. When they were out the door, Holmes still didn't let go and pulled her to the direction of Scotland Yard.

"Sherlock." She stayed rooted on her spot, eyes on their linked hands.

"Is anything the matter?" He looked back.

In her mind she was scanning through excuses to make him let go. "I- I need to fix my disguise before we exit the alley." Yes, that was good enough.

"Oh, yes, of course."

He didn't hold her hand after that, but his overall aura changed. There was a spring to his step, his pace was quick but it did not seem urgent and when she fell behind slightly, he would wait for her patiently. As they walked she would hear him slightly humming a familiar tune, the tune she had been humming earlier in the kitchen. When they passed a crowded street someone called out to him in greeting, and instead of ignoring the person he waved back, something that quite shocked the receiver and Irene. Sometimes she thought she saw him smile, or maybe it was just the shadows casted by the light, but for that few minutes walk to Scotland Yard, she was sure she never saw him frown which he would constantly do when thinking on a case.

Irene would not think it believable, but is seems that great detective Sherlock Holmes was happily distracted.

_Bliss _was etched on that thought worn face, it didn't show much but it was there. She could tell because, albeit only a little on her part, it was something that they share. It was both a miraculous and a tragic sight; although it may be so rare to see him like this, Irene knew that these moments have grave consequences. Yes, it was bliss alright.

Dangerous bliss…

He had gotten rid of his silk cap and plaited wig but retained his glasses and tattered robe and his appearance recalled her to that faithful day six years ago when he had asked her out to dinner. This time she could not help but smile to herself; those times they had been playful around each other, it was not conventional, but finally they were happy. It did not last long though, and she remembered far too well the ending to her side of the story.

Irene now looked at her cold and lonely hand and wished Sherlock held it again, only to be pulled back into reality by the Sapphire ring that sat on her finger. Remembering she was in a disguise as a man, she hastily pulled the ring off and kept it. Now a new sensation filled her: _guilt_.

_Robert…_

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><p><strong>AN: I know, i know, It's tooooo short compared to my usual chapters. It used to be longer but I cut the end part and placed it in the next chapter since I wanted this chapter to focus more on Irene and Holmes and their confusing partnership and the last part of the chapter kinda drifted more on the case. **

**Cyrus Barker and Thomas Llewelyn are from Will Thomas' detective novel series 'Some Danger Involved'. Look it up and read it. It's loads of fun! I've taken up some pointers and plot twists from the book and incorporated them here, for example, dead Turnstone crucified on the telegraph post was actually a young Torah scholar tied to a lamp post. Will Thomas is such a great writer. I hope you look him up. Barker is somewhat sort of like Holmes, but only much more dead serious and has his own quirks very different from Holmes. Llewelyn is the ingenue of the story sort of like Watson, but with a sadder back story and much younger. **

**Please, please, pretty please, REVIEW! I kinda need those for motivation. I'll try to finish up chap 21 and upload it next week. See you guys!**


	21. Another Case of Identity

**Another Case of Identity**

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><p>The commissioner was bowed over his desk when they came; Holmes tapped on the open door and Lestrade looked up.<p>

"I 'eard your mansion burned down, though din' 'spect it to be this bad." He eyed Holmes' tattered robe and resumed his paperwork.

"Yours is a warm welcome as always Lestrade." Holmes retorted and sat across the desk as Irene leaned by the door way. "But not to worry, we're quite fine."

"Then what brings you back to London?"

"I've got news of R.A. Turnstone for you"

"_You've _got news?" Lestrade half sneered, "Ha, I've done my part as you instructed, there's nothing about tha' man tha' I dunnah. I've got open eyes on 'im we'ver 'e goes."

"Then you must've blinked because he's dead."

Lestrade's pen skidded across the file he was signing. He stared at Holmes for a moment then suddenly burst into laughter, he laughed so hard he slapped his knees and wiped his eyes. "Oy, you got me good Mista' Holmes! That's a real kicker I tell you!" His laugh gradually faded though as he looked at Holmes' unchanged expression. "Do tell you were jokin'." He looked helplessly from Holmes then to the disguised Irene who merely shook her head. Lestrade pulled at his collar and gulped. "Surely you must be mistaken Holmes!"

"My name and 'mistaken' do not belong in the same sentence, you know that."

The Commissioner started to sweat.

"I know you've done your part well, but this one was too good for you. We came to inform you as soon as we saw the body yesterday afternoon."

His pen skidded again. "Yesterday?"

"You know you ought to be careful with that signature, those look like very important documents." Holmes suggested.

This time Lestrade's ears turned red. "_Afternoon?!" _He rose from his seat. "Now I know you're a respected man Holmes, and you might think me dull for my position, but Sco'land Yard won't take such tall tales! Why, only last night I sat on the table right next to Turnstone's in The Royale as 'e partook 'is dinner!"

Irene slipped on the spot she leaned on and saw Holmes' face set into a stony expression much like Barker's.

"-now you come here making a fool out of the Yard's credibility by telling me that the very man I have followed, since morning till he walked into his house late last night, to be dead!"

"Calm down Lestrade." Holmes found his voice.

"_Calm down?" _Lestrade was livid._ "You ask me to calm down while you humiliate me-_"

Holmes merely sighed and took a thick notebook from Lestrade's desk. "Is this your journal of the man's daily activities?"

"- _and insinuate that I am a disappointment- _Why yes, of course." His voice shifted and he sank back down on his seat, wiping sweat off his heaving face as Holmes flipped through the pages.

Irene waited with baited breath and stared hard at Holmes who skipped most pages but read through some. Then he set the notebook on the desk and stood up.

Lestrade remained seated, still shaky from the outburst. "What is it?"

"You, my dear Commissioner," Holmes tossed him the notebook and made to leave, "have been thrown off by a decoy."

* * *

><p>"So which is the real Turnstone?" Irene tried to piece up all the data in her mind as they took a hansom ride from Scotland Yard to Charing Cross Hospital. "And why Charing Cross?"<p>

"The dead one was the real one dear, and it was taken down by Lestrade that the man, the decoy mind you, spent a considerable time in Turnstone's study in the hospital everyday, hence that would be where we find him. For now, all the obvious clues are what we have to feed on."

This is probably the first time Holmes admitted any knowledge of his to be obvious, Irene wondered if he shared these thoughts to Watson too. The cab skidded with a halt on the cobblestones in front of the old red building. Holmes tossed a sovereign to the cabbie and walked straight into the halls without hesitating, made sharp turns and took flights of stairs as if he knew exactly where to go.

_He probably does know where to go; it is Sherlock after all… _Irene thought.

Holmes had brought them to a less populated wing of the hospital where most of the medical university professors' offices were, some of the people they passed gave Holmes' costume odd looks while others tipped their hats in greeting towards Irene.

_Friends of Watson probably…_

Holmes found Turnstone's office, but instead of walking in, he sat on the waiting bench outside it and motioned for her to sit on another bench as to look as if they didn't come together, and sat silently in wait. A few moments later, a secretarial looking youth exited the office carrying a pile of books and papers in his arms. The two went unnoticed as the boy was busily wrestling with his burden and had left the door open. As he disappeared into the next corridor, Holmes motioned for her quickly into the office.

He cautiously eyed the door of the main office as Irene staggered in the semi-darkness of the secretary's antechamber. She had forgotten to mind the door, and as it slowly swung back, the lock clicked.

"Stevens, are you still there?" said a voice from the next room.

Holmes glowered at her.

"I thought I told you to bring those files back down as soon as possible-," The door opened, revealing the tall, thin stature of a man. As their sight adjusted with the darkness, they saw the face that belonged to the corpse they saw only yesterday. The decoy regarded them for a moment, then, "You're not Stevens."

"Apparently not." Holmes said calmly. "We're here to ask you a few questions Dr. Turnstone."

He eyed them questioningly, especially Holmes. "Are you two students perhaps?" The man edged neared to his door frame. "I'd be glad to entertain, but it's currently lunch period and offices should be closed."

"I'm afraid this cannot wait sir." Holmes advanced slightly.

A look of panic crept up the man's face and he quickly reach for something behind his door frame, but Irene had tackled him to the ground the second he flinched.

In a moment he was face down on the floor, cheeks pressed and mouth muffled against the carpet, Irene straddled him and twisted his arms against his back.

"Dr. Watson! Why treat our host roughly?" Holmes exclaimed with feigned surprise.

"He was going for the security bell-pull." Irene said stiffly and started loosening her neck tie to bind the man's hands with.

"Oh, we wouldn't want that." Holmes smiled.

"Dr. _Watson?" _The man pulled his face from the floor. "The 'John _Watson'?"_

"What?" Irene replied as she pulled him up and assisted him to a chair.

"But you're a _woman_!"

"Yeah, what's it to you?"

The decoy stared at her, confused and dazed. He shook his head as if to dispel the thought then looked at Holmes. "Then you must be Sherlock Holmes."

"The one and only."

"I- I don't understand. Why have you come for me?"

Holmes straddled a chair, "Reginald," he leaned on its back facing the bound man, "Arthur," he procured a match and lit his pipe, "Turnstone," and puffed the smoke into the air.

"Tha-that's me." The decoy stammered.

"No," he puffed again. The man audibly gulped in his seat. "If you were Reginald Arthur Turnstone, then you should be dead."

At this, the man eyes widened with mixed fear and confusion. "What do you mean?"

"We know about you and the doctor," Irene interjected, "he was killed yesterday."

Those last four words etched a series of expressions on their captive's face that even without words they could tell what he was thinking. When they thought his already wide eyes couldn't get any wider, they did, as if the somber news took time to sink in into his mind. Then his face fell into a look of understanding as if he knew this would happen and it had to be accepted. His last look came with a speech.

"Wait," he said with a defiant tone, "are you here because you think I had something to do with his death?"

Holmes stood up and took to minding the possession around the room, "We're here because we think you're next."

The man's face fell once more.

"But," Irene said, "Before anything untoward happens to you, we would first like to know more about you."

"No need," Holmes stopped her, "There's not much to know other than the fact that you are Dr. Turnstone's hired help." He said as he peered at framed photographs on the shelves.

The man's face contorted once more. "How-how did you-"

"A picture speaks a thousand words." Holmes placed down a photo frame onto the desk for the decoy and Irene to see. It was of Turnstone standing in the patio of his stately town house. "Dr. Turnstone is a widower with no children. Judging by the excellent urban vegetation in this photograph he has, in his employment, a gardener, and seeing that you have quite some young plants of superb quality in this study, I would say they were only brought in the day you assumed your master's identity."

The man said nothing but gave a conceding nod with a sad face.

"But a man with a wide social circle and a very masterful profession cannot easily be replicated simply by his gardener. Such a task requires a deeper acquaintance and a stronger familiarity. You are also his housekeeper, his lone company. You are neither brothers nor cousins or related in any way, for your reaction to our news lacks that sort of urgency."

"My name is Lane, Marcus Lane. We were more than master and employee, we were friends." The decoy said. "Art and I, we've known each other since childhood. Eventually, by some stroke of luck, his family became wealthy and they moved away, whereas I grew up in poverty. I was a helpless sap, alone and forgotten. Art found me and offered me shelter and in return I served him ever since. When the letters started arriving, he became more distant, he was always on edge and he ate little. He was a wreck."

Holmes offered his full attention; this was the part he was waiting for.

"Some nights he came home quite late from working on a special experiment, sometimes he never came home at all for days. Then one day he came to me and he told me how much our friendship meant to him, and that he had one final request from me. He said he needed to go away in hiding; he needed to save a woman's life. Who he was hiding from, I had a slight idea but I never questioned my friend, he was after all, my savior. He didn't want anyone finding out about his plans, he needed to keep up an illusion of still living here in the city, and to do that he needed me. He knew this day would come, it was sooner or later, and as much as he hated it, he needed to change me, he needed people to believe he was never gone. He trained me and tutored me his profession, his habits were easy enough for me to copy. All that's left now was physically turning into him."

"You mean like wearing a mask everyday? That would never work." Irene said. "Believe me, I've done that."

The decoy looked at her with confusion but continued any way. "This is more than just a mask, Dr, this is my face now."

"What do you mean?" This time it was her who was confused.

"Ah-ha!" Holmes exclaimed rather joyfully from where he stood. He took another photo frame from the shelf and set it in front of Irene. She peered at it closely and then pulled back with a gasp. The photo contained a young Turnstone on his graduation day standing beside his professor.

"That is no ordinary mask dear Doctor," he crouched down beside Lane and peered at the man's jaw line. "It is the work of a master craftsman. Mr. Lane here has grown himself a beard to hide the traces of a transformation." He pointed at the man's side burns. "If you remember the original Turnstone had a clean shaven jaw line."

"Who would have thought?" Irene said.

"Well of course, who else would you expect it to be? He's the one who improved this cosmetic science beyond its own time. Why else would our dear friend James Moriarty hire him before?"

"Turnstone must have been his best student…" Irene commented direly.

"Now look where it's brought them. Both teacher and student, dead by the hands of their clients." Holmes turned back to their captive. "We will deposit you into the care of Scotland Yard for the duration of the case. Tell your colleagues that you'll be going on vacation until we solve all this."

"Yes sir." The man said timidly.

"As for you Dr. Watson," he turned to Irene. "We still have a few things to explain to our land lady." to which she replied with a groan.

Irene untied the decoy, and before the three of them left the room, she placed the photo frame face down on the desk and uttered a small prayer for Dr. Turnstone and his mentor, Dr. Hofmannsthal.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, I'm so sorry that it took me this long to update, and I'm also very sorry that this is a short chapter. It's supposed to be part of Chapter 20, but i wanted to separate it since the subjects are different and would be confusing to read. **

**Also, I've written another HolmesxAdler fan fic. It's titled 'Friend or Foe' and it's my take on how they met for the second time before the 1st movie's timeline, and there I present what happened between them that led them to this. Check it out! **

**Dr. Hofmannsthal, if you remember AGOS, was the old dude at the auction that was annoyed by Holmes and killed by Moran. He's the dude who transformed Rene's features to resemble an ambassador. **

**Now you know that cosmetic surgery is involved in the case, what do you think would happen next? **

**REVIEWS PLEASE! :D**


	22. M is for Mayhem

**M is for Mayhem**

* * *

><p>An old woman and a young girl alighted on Baker Street. The lady kept a tight grip on the small one as they shuffled through the mist cloaked street with only the burning gas lamps to guide their way. They arrived on the 4.50 train from the country and the street was still unpopulated at this early hour, their destination: 221.<p>

The old woman pulled on the bell.

No reply.

Despite her apparent frail frame, this time she knocked with forceful urgency.

Still no reply.

She knocked her hardest.

Finally a shuffling could be heard from inside and an annoyed 'Alright, alright!'

Mrs. Hudson cautiously opened the door an inch. _Terribly early in the morning! One of his odd clients again I presume._

"Who is it and what do you want at this time?" the land lady said rather unkindly, she had been ruffled up from sleep at an ungodly hour.

"I've come for Mr. Holmes." It sounded like an old lady but she can't see the face for it was hidden behind a thick scarf.

"Who is it may I ask?"

"Please let us in, I have a child with me and she's cold out here."

Seeing that there was indeed a small girl all bundled up in a coat and bonnet, Mrs. Hudson opened the door a little wider. The two moved about the foyer in a surprisingly familiar way, and before Mrs. Hudson could say anything, the old lady went into the sitting room.

"Excuse me, where do you think you're going?"

She was ignored and the old woman settled the little girl on the couch and made her way upstairs.

Mrs. Hudson gave chase. "I don't think that's a good idea. He won't be up till late. You'll be received unpleasantly!" but still the visitor made her way up, and Mrs. Hudson thought she saw a flash of trousers underneath the petticoats.

* * *

><p>Irene woke up with a start when someone knocked loudly on Sherlock Holmes' door. She glanced sideways at her companion; Holmes was still fast asleep; they were on the tiger rug. Another round of knocking beat the door outside.<p>

She could here Mrs. Hudson's voice outside pleading to a second person. "Please, you should leave, or else I'll call the Yard!"

"Sherlock." She whispered into his ear.

The detective stirred but still dozed on. The knocking continued.

"Sherlock!" she patted his cheeks lightly. "Wake up, someone's at the door."

Holmes grunted and buried his face in her hair.

"Surely you can't still be asleep with that noise." She tried getting out of their tangled limbs, but before she could, he pulled her back and pinned her down with his body. "Someone's trying to get in, if you haven't noticed!"

The front door bell rang and Irene heard Mrs. Hudson whine. "Oh, who could that be this time? Please madam, I must get that, but you should not wake him up!"

"Just… Watson." His voice muffled by her hair.

"Watson isn't here!" she almost snarled as the knocking persisted. "Mrs. Hudson might need your help."

"All the more reason to ignore it then… It's Watson."

"It is not Watson!"

The door flew open with a crash and Irene yelped in surprise. Holmes stayed as he is, covering Irene. The intruder, an old lady, tore off her scarves and revealed John Watson's clean shaven face.

"Holmes! What the bloody hell is the matter with you?! I've been knocking for ages!"

The said detective turned to Irene under him. "I told you."

Watson stomped over to the edge of the rug. "Who are you talking to?" he pulled back the covers.

Irene screamed and tugged back the sheets.

Watson yelled shielding his eyes. "_What in heaven's name are you to doing in bed together?! Naked?!"_

"Please Watson, is that how you greet a lady good morning?" Holmes sat up. "Pass me my trousers if you would."

Watson threw rather than passed the garment, and made sure to hit Holmes in the face. "You astound me Holmes. You would do this in the middle of a case?" he said incredulously. "Why, I even thought that I could trust-"

"Please sir! You can't go in there now! He's still asleep-!" Mrs. Hudson was at the door, vainly pulling back the new visitor, a young man, by his arm when she stopped, "Dr. Watson?!" she stared at the cross dresser. "What are-"

She turned to Holmes. "Who is-"

Then back to Watson, "Why-"

She then saw Irene on the bed with only the sheet to cover her.

"_What is going on in here?!"_

"Good morning Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" The man, Caruthers, cut her off in an inappropriately happy manner.

"Good morning to you to, lad. What news have you for us?" Holmes replied as he pulled on his trousers.

"Happy news sir! Happy news indeed!" He said giddily.

"Pray tell."

"I am pleased to report that Miss Irene Adler is pregnant!"

"_What?!"_ Exclaimed both Watson and Irene, whereas the terribly confused landlady fainted.

* * *

><p>Caruthers actually meant Mary but had been accustomed to calling her by her decoy name. John Watson temporarily forgot this rage over his friend and lifted up the messenger in jubilation. After the thick cloud of confusion has lifted, the entire 221 company settled themselves to breakfast in the dining room. Mrs. Hudson, upon realizing that Irene was the Watson she has witnessed with Holmes the other day, shot the younger woman with unpleasant looks and would tut as the breakfast that Irene prepared was not in par with her standards.<p>

Mary arrived a little later with Myrcoft Holmes, and was subjected to a shower of kisses and a slightly tight embrace by her husband despite the short separation. That single good news put a smile on all their faces there. It was as if no danger lurked outside, and there was no case to be solved. For now, their excitement was concentrated on greeting the blessed couple. The sun was barely rising, but the entire room seemed to glow bright and warm with her being in the room.

Irene approached Mary as she was preparing to wash the dishes. "Congratulations Mary."

The expectant mother smiled. "Thank you Irene dear."

"It's a relief, you know; to hear good news during times like these." She took a sponge and started scrubbing the plates.

"It truly is." Mary sighed, "I just hope everything turns out well for you and Mr. Holmes then you could experience this too."

"What?"

"This of course, pregnancy! After Mr. Holmes solves the case, you'll get married to Lord Barrington and then after that I'm sure I won't be the only one expecting."

Irene set down her sponge. "Yes… Yes, I think you're right."

She looked sideways at her friend; Mary was glowing happily. She was married to the man she loves, and despite the dangers he faces she's still there, and now they're having a second child. They're happy with their life, it wasn't the best, but with how Mary went along, she made it work.

_Well, she's not like me; she's just a house wife, whereas I'm…I'm…_

Irene did not know what she was. She is a free spirit, yes, but compared to the woman beside her, Irene was just a lost soul…

"You know you shouldn't be working, dear." Watson's voice came from the door. "We should do all the work for you; from now on you'll be treated as a queen."

Mary laughed, "Oh John, don't be silly, I'm alright."

He approached her and kissed her lips. "Now what kind of husband would I be if I let you tire yourself out? Off you go now, Mrs. Hudson wants to talk to you about baby clothes."

Mary smiled and left the two of them in the kitchen, when the last ruffle of her skirt disappeared around the doorway Watson turned to Irene.

"Would you care to explain what I just witnessed earlier, Ms. Adler?"

Irene kept quiet and continued to wash the dishes.

"You know you simply can't avoid the question. I don't have to waste my time asking Holmes anything; the man's reasoning may be brilliant, but can be very bent at times, whereas you could provide me with answers that fit my understanding."

"You're not new to this, Doctor, why bother asking?"

"I'm used to you two frolicking around behind my back, heck, I couldn't care less, Holmes could care less."

Irene felt the last lines sting.

"But you, Ms. Adler, should be more careful about your actions. Regardless of the past between you and Holmes, what happened is inexcusable!"

"Please, don't lecture me Doctor."

"We are in a middle of a case and you are a vital part of it! Holmes needs to concentrate on this before we have another dead body in our hands-"

"Sherlock is doing fine, we've settled more of the case only yesterday-"

"And this is more than just about the case-"

"We're both adults, I don't see why you must work yourself out about this-"

"-_You're getting married!"_

Irene's hand went up to slap him across the face but she stopped. Instead, she picked up the sponge and threw it at his shoes. "Well it's not to you, is it?!" then she stormed out. She didn't mean to, he was her friend after all, but he was right. What he said was the truth, she was getting married, and right now she couldn't deal with the truth.

After some time of pacing out by the coal shack, she found herself inside resting on the lowest step of the staircase; from there she could hear the conversation of others in the next room. Despite being a wall apart, she felt like a world away. Although, her chest felt tight and her palms were cold, no tears dared to fall. Irene crossed her arms on her knees put her head down and sighed heavily.

After a while like this, she felt like she was watched. She turned her head sideways and her eyes met Sherlock's; he was looking at her from his seat in the other room. She saw him stand, maybe to approach her, but before he could walk towards her, Mrs. Hudson spoke to him and blocked him from her sight.

"Why are you doing this to me, Sherlock?" she mumbled.

"S'cuse me mum." Someone interrupted her.

"Huh?"

It was Mrs. Hudson's pageboy and he was holding out a red envelope. "This came in the post today; it's addressed to a Ms. Adler. I suppose that's you?"

* * *

><p>After Irene went with a huff, Watson returned to the sitting room to replace his anger with joy, only to face his best friend.<p>

"You still have some explaining to do." Holmes said.

"And so do you."

"My query is of the utmost important matter while yours is simply to snoop into my bedroom life."

"It is _not_ to snoop, Holmes! You know Ms. Adler's current status; she's engaged! And yet here you are _cavorting_ with her."

"Yes engaged, married no, I don't seem to be committing any marital crimes am I? Although your wife might have, she kissed Irene just the other night, but I doubt that counts since she was dressed up as you."

"What?!"

"Anyhow, come now Watson, speak! Why have you come here?"

"I received this last night," he pulled out a card, "it came not by post but by special delivery to your butler's house, up until I was in the train I thought it was you, nonetheless, it sounds a bit urgent."

The card was typewritten:

_We have been followed here. There's only one of them, but so far he has not tried anything at all and I am hoping he really won't. I'm starting to think your presence would be of convenience._

_-SH_

"Ah, I see where you made your mistake. Stanley Hopkins and I share the same initials, and yes I did say I would communicate once I needed you." Holmes took a seat on an armchair. "I would not say it is urgent."

"What? Holmes! Barrington has been followed!"

"Calm down Watson, trust me when I say it is nothing. One man has been sent to follow them, only one. Now unless that man is a trained assassin, then we have nothing to worry about. Also if he was an assassin, then he would have failed now that our inspector has remembered his face. If there are more, Hopkins would know, he has been trained to sniff out suspects, if he believes there is one, then I have no reason to go against that."

"But Holmes-"

"If a casualty is indeed to happen, then I fear that it would be Hopkins himself, for the man has dedicated himself to protecting Barrington. If such happens, then we are to hear of it right away. But trust me, nothing to worry about."

"What about Hopkins? He sounds nervous."

"Oh he is, but he knows how to sort out his priorities."

Watson sighed. "Fine then, I believe this conversation is over for now." He turned his attention to his wife.

Holmes sat there and observed the small party in front of him, but something else had caught his attention from the corner of his eye: Irene sat on the bottom of the staircase looking disgruntled. She too was obviously confronted by Watson, but unlike him, Irene had more reasons to sit and mope around. Watson was right, she was engaged to be married.

If that thought was food, then Holmes didn't like the taste it left in his mouth.

Irene hid her face in her arms, despite that she still looked so strong and stubborn to him. She shifted her head and their eyes met.

_Go over to her._

_Why…_

_Why not? Everyone else is preoccupied._

_What would I say to her? _

_Tell her 'thank you'._

_For last night? Now that's just pathetic._

_Yeah, I guess it is. Just talk to her._

_Alright._

He felt like he needed every ounce of his strength to push himself off the chair, but when he succeeded Mrs. Hudson blocked him.

"Oh Mr. Holmes, would you mind joining us?"

"Not now Nanny."

"Please sir you must, Dr. Watson and you brother are contesting about the gender of Mrs. Watson's baby. I'm sure you'd like to deduce this one too."

Holmes caught his brother's eye, Mycroft beckoned him over, and he supposes he would have to do this for now.

* * *

><p>Irene gazed at the envelope in the boy's hand for a moment. "Did you say it's addressed to me?" she glanced back at Sherlock just incase he heard; he wasn't in his seat anymore.<p>

"Well, if you are Ms. Adler, then-"

"Yes it's me, thanks, you can leave now." Then the boy left scratching his head.

No one but the Holmes brothers and the Watson was supposed to know of her location.

_Who sent this?_

She held the envelope at arm's length and inspected the address:

_Miss Irene Adler _

It was done in a stylish script that occupied most of the back on the envelope, feeling the contents inside, it was flat meaning there was nothing other than paper. There was no seal or watermark.

_It can't be for Mary… She's been staying at Mycroft's and if it is for her then it should be sent there._

Irene carefully pulled it close and placed a corner on her tongue; it could be poison, if it was, she'd just spit the taste out and not open the envelope. It tasted of nothing but paper.

_Okay… Then you're just a simple letter aren't you?_

With the utmost caution, Irene slowly pried the flap open and pulled out the thin cardboard that bore the short letter.

* * *

><p>"Well if I must base on preference, yes, in fact I must say that it is a boy." Watson said proudly.<p>

"Tut, tut, here you go again. Have we not established that we are deducing the child's gender? Your preference biases your judgment." Mycroft said.

"You must know, brother, that usually, if not always, Watson's judgment is pure bias in itself." The younger Holmes snorted and received a glare from the father.

"Oh but you must agree with me since it is I who found out about Mrs. Watson's state; a mother with a regular sleeping pattern of eight hours is normal, but she finds herself to be detained in bed by sleep past her waking time, her appetite has grown ravenous with no regard for choice of food, her constant protests against my smoking even if I was two rooms away signifies heightened senses, and her semi-uncontrollable libido, forgive me Madam, was evident when she kissed Ms. Adler."

Holmes smirked at Watson.

"Then and there I would deduce that she was already three months along, yet it does not show in her size, her abdomen may not be obvious but her breasts, forgive me Madam, are of her regular size."

Mary blushed like a beet.

"With this, I must say that it is a girl."

Watson opened his mouth to retort but what sound came next was not his own voice.

A glass shattering scream pierced the air and the atmosphere turned cold. Holmes immediately ran out while the other sitting room occupants stared at each other with wide nervous eyes before following suit.

The sight of Irene Alder heaving and curdled into a sorry heap at the bottom of the stairs was not blood curdling at the least, but her sobs and wails struck them as alien and sent chills down their spines.

Holmes sat next to her and took her in his arms, allowing her to cry on his shoulder. He then spotted the red envelope and letter by her feet. When he picked it up to read, Watson said:

"Oh no, is that it? Has it happened Holmes? What I said earlier?"

His brows furrowed, "No, fortunately it is not what you think. But unfortunately, it could be worse." He handed the letter to Watson who read it with Mycroft over his shoulder.

_Dear Miss Irene Adler_

_I must tell you that I am delighted to see your face among the London crowd once again._

_Only some months ago I believed that you were gone and I thought that it was such a loss._

_But now that I see you are up and about with our friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes_

_I must say that I look forward to seeing you again._

_-M_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I didn't know how to include Holmes and Irene explaining to Mrs. Hudson about the other day, so I just skipped it, assuming they avoided her at all costs. LOL.**

**Don't get too confused about this chap though, all shall be explained in the next chapter! **

**Anyways..I'll just leave this chapter here and feel free to panic my dear readers. :D**

**-JS**


	23. AUTHOR'S NOTE

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

**Ladies and Gentlemen. My dear readers. I would like to apologize for my appalling hiatus from this story.**

**And no, I am not dead...yet.**

**I know that no explanation of mine would satisfy and appease you, but you deserve one still.**

**A lot has happened in the last 2 years and I was very much preoccupied with my life. Although I remained actively reading stories here in , I was not inspired to write at all, and decided on a break. **

**One major factor of that break is my own enthusiasm and writing style. I know, although no one has mentioned it, that you may have noticed a decline in the quality of my writing in the last 3 chapters of this story.**

**Back then, I forced myself to keep updating and writing the story. It went the way I want it to, but it was forced just so I could put something out there and it is terribly lackluster, dimwitted, and seriously not deserving to be called a Holmes fic.**

**It was not up to my standards, and simply put the previous, better written chapters to shame. I know some would say, regardless of grammar and style, you would still read it. But I want to offer this story the best way I can! So I hope that you understand this.**

**I am also trying to untangle my damned plot. I am trying to straighten out some details, because heck, if it's confusing for me, let alone for you guys! It's been a while, so I have forgotten how some things connect, but don't worry, I'm getting all that fixed.**

**I must confess. Chapter 23 has long been written, not yet completed though. Along with chapter 22 actually. But I did not publish it because of the reasons above. I have spent a lot of time rereading Chap 23 again and again in an attempt to polish it and bring back the shine that was in chapters 3 to 19. It's going rather well I should say.**

**Another thing is... This story is reaching the end of PART I.**

**Yes**

**There is a Part II**

***heavy breathing***

**In about, say 3 more chapters. Ending Part I is grueling! Ack! **

**Part II is still of course about the case, but with something else added to the plot. I'll leave you to guess what it is. But it will not be as long as Part I. **

**The reason why I'm coming back this year is because I've heard rumors of a 3rd movie! *jumps around like an uncultured hippie* and it's fueled my desire to get this over with! And of course... you guys... I am so terribly sorry... I'll do my best.**

**I will finally update before January ends. I know! It's a bit far off, but with a lot on my plate right now, this is all I can promise you. **

**This AN chapter will be removed once I update Chapter 23. **

**Thank You for always checking up on me and pushing me to update. You guys are awesome!**

**Drink up me 'earties. Yo-ho!**

**-JS**


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